


The Strength of the Protectors

by TrulyMightyPotato



Series: Protector Duties [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blindness, Dragons, Gen, Magic, Missing Limbs, Possession of a friend's body, any questions of tags can be sent to tumblr under the same username, near-death, recovery after mental trauma, recovery after physical trauma, will add tags as I continue writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 50,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyMightyPotato/pseuds/TrulyMightyPotato
Summary: Throughout the history of the Realms, Protectors have always been silent support for the nobility. But where do they get their own strength, and how do they keep going when things keep getting harder?The second multi-chapter work in the Protector Duties series.Current schedule: one chapter a week (probably Wednesdays).





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> AAO isn't completely done yet, but I've got a decent cushion of chapters on this now, so I'm going to go ahead and post the prologue. The next chapter will go up Wednesday, and after that it'll be one a week.

The strength of the Protectors had never been in numbers, or in sheer magical power, or even in physical ability. It had been in their bonds with their nobles, being able to sense when something was wrong and offering comfort and advice. A noble with a good relationship with their Protector was much more likely to run a successful Realm.

Everyone knew those bonds were strong. They were magical, for one, permanently linking Protector and noble.

Apparently they stayed strong even after their second death.

“I see,” Snow said seriously.

Well, Snow was the one speaking, but it was Gar’s body and voice.

Molly nodded, leaning back in her chair. She still hadn’t gotten much rest, and at this point, Jason was starting to worry about her health. Granted, she was probably confused and grieving Gar.

Jason sure was.

“So that’s the situation here,” Jason said. Molly had just explained what was going on with getting her to the Guardians and the rogue dragon and the Land of the Squirrels and the giant mess that was their corner of the world right now. “What happened with you and Gar?”

Snow raised an eyebrow. It looked a bit odd, considering it was just Gar’s eyebrow. Moving above the bandage across Gar’s eyes. Because he’d been clawed in the face by baby gryphons. And a lot of other places by slightly older gryphons. And this wasn’t Gar. But Gar’s own Protector from when he was a prince 1000 years ago, inhabiting Gar’s still very badly injured body.

“I-” Snow gasped with pain, Gar’s body tensing. “I followed my binding with him and found him close to death. I tried bringing him back, but he was exhausted and weak and somehow I ended up here instead?”

“It’s likely you made the switch when Gar stopped breathing yesterday,” MatPat said, leaning forward from where he’d propped himself on the wall. “That seems to be the most logical time.”

“Inhabiting your prince’s body isn’t logical, Lord Patrick.” Gar’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “I wouldn’t put too much faith in it right now.”

MatPat narrowed his eyes at Snow, but said nothing.

“When I found-” Snow cut himself off, panting. Clearly, he was feeling more and more of the pain from Gar’s wounds as time went on, but they couldn’t bring in a healer until they were done with this conversation. Some things were just too confidential to risk getting out.

“When I found my prince, he was trying to get back. He wanted to come back.” Snow lifted a shaking hand and brushed the bandage over Gar’s eyes again, then frowned. “He was just too tired.” He took a deep breath and dropped his hand. “I can’t feel a medallion on my chest, so I presume that’s gone to the Guardians?”

“As far as I know, yes.” Jason slouched in his chair—the chair he was technically supposed to have given to MatPat, but it wasn’t going to hurt him to stand for a bit longer. He wasn’t that old nor in any sort of pain.

“Alright.” Snow paused, still breathing rapidly. “When we get there, your majesty, you can call him back. I’ll do my best to do his job until then.”

Molly frowned. “You can’t even sit up right now, Snow.”

“That does make things more difficult, yes.” Gar’s jaw set—no, Snow’s jaw. Jason was just going to confuse himself if he kept thinking of Snow inhabiting Gar’s body as Gar. “My prince’s goal is my goal, though, unless he’s being a complete idiot. But he wasn’t this time, so I’ll fill the role of your bodyguard until you get him back.”

“Are you allowed to call your noble a complete idiot?” MatPat asked.

Jason snorted. “Yes.”

MatPat shot him an even look.

Snow laughed slightly, only for the laugh to turn into a cough. “I do it all the time.” He coughed again, this time more breathlessly. “I don’t know how much use I’ll be, your majesty, but I will do my best.”

Molly grimaced. “For now, rest. You won’t do anyone any good if you die. Again.” She stood, staggering a bit. “MatPat, Jason, you and I need to talk and figure out the rest of this journey. And then I’m going to sleep for who-knows-how-long, because I’m exhausted.”

Jason dipped his head and stood himself, following Molly out of the room.

“Gee, thanks Jason, for waiting for me to leave first,” MatPat muttered.

“Become a queen without a functioning bodyguard and I will.”

MatPat’s response was lost in the rush of the healer stepping past them to enter the room and tend to Snow, but it couldn't have been complimentary.

Jason just smirked at him.


	2. The Loss of a Friend

The healer did his best to get PJ back up and moving again as soon as possible, though PJ hadn’t quite been expecting it to be two days after he woke up from losing his leg.

“We’re almost to the end of the hall,” the healer encouraged. “Just a bit further and we can turn back to your rooms.”

PJ grit his teeth and hauled himself a bit more on his crutches. Getting the fifty feet down the hall would have taken him well under a minute back when he had two legs. Of course, he didn’t have two legs any more. He had one and a rather uncoordinated stump that didn’t seem to know what to do with itself.

He also hadn’t been expecting this to be so hard. He’d been able to move on crutches just fine on Dan’s wedding day. It had been tiring, but it hadn’t been like this. Not like PJ was dragging himself forward with all of his strength.

Granted, he’d lost more blood during the amputation, and his body was definitely still confused. Maybe that was what was doing it.

PJ was halfway back to his rooms—and, by extension, Dan and Amanda’s rooms—and resting for a minute, trying to catch his breath. He was struggling, that was for sure.

Phil had gone through this.

Had PJ not already been stopped, he would have stopped then.

Phil had gone through this for years. It had been five years before he got a prosthetic that had worked for him—not for lack of trying, but because something had always been slightly off enough that it had caused Phil significant pain. He’d always claimed it was fine, but the damage to his lungs meant he couldn’t use his crutches for long periods of time. When they really needed to get somewhere, Phil had either PJ or Dan carry him, but he’d never liked it much.

It had been frightening the first time PJ realized the whole of Phil’s situation was draining him more than he’d admitted to Dan. It had been even worse when PJ realized Dan realized, as Dan had become more and more afraid of the inevitable day when Phil would die.

PJ closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to let himself cry in front of the healer. He didn’t want to have to explain why he was crying, which meant the healer would assume it was from pain. Which it was, grief was pain, but not the kind caused by the assassination attempt.

“Protector,” the healer said simply, “when you’re ready.”

PJ nodded and swallowed. The hallway was not the place to let grief wash over him. 

He started moving again, the healer following like they had before.

How long was he going to be grieving for Phil? It had been almost a year, surely the pain would have started to fade by now. But no, whenever PJ thought about him for too long—anything more than a second—grief filled him all over again.

Very suddenly, a wave of horror washed over PJ from Dan, sending him staggering at the force of it. Just as PJ started to get back his balance, a wave of raw grief swamped him. 

This time, when PJ lost his balance, he went down.

All the air wooshed out of him, leaving him coughing in a desperate attempt to breathe through the sheer force of Dan’s grief.

The healer knelt next to him, concern washing over their face.

PJ propped himself up on one arm, holding up a hand to tell the healer to wait.

As the initial wave of Dan’s grief faded a bit, PJ was able to take steady breaths.

“What happened, do you know? You didn’t seem terribly concerned.” The healer slid PJ’s crutches towards him.

It took a bit of effort, but PJ got up from the floor. Then, and only then, did he answer. “I need to speak with Lord Howell.”

Luna opened the door for PJ just before he arrived to knock, and looked a little surprised that he was there.

“Thank you,” PJ said simply.

She nodded, stepping aside and glancing inside the room. Dan looked like he’d just sunk into his chair, tears streaming down his face. Amanda was standing next to him, an alarmed look on her face.

Amanda looked up. “Luna, can-“ She blinked. “Protector Liguori, I was just about to send for you. Do you know what’s happening? He was talking with Wade and then this happened.”

“All I know is what he’s feeling.” PJ moved over to Dan and put a hand on his shoulder.

Dan swallowed. “I’ll pass it on.”

Ah. He was still in the communication spell with Wade, then.

“I’ll speak with her about it.” Dan buried his face in his hands.

A long moment passed, where nothing but grief and pain and fear rolled off Dan, but PJ didn’t say anything. Amanda and Luna were waiting for him to do something, he knew that, but Dan needed a minute. Or five.

Finally, Dan took a stuttering breath and lifted his head. “Peej, you need to sit down for this. Amanda, Luna, it probably wouldn’t hurt if you did too.”

PJ frowned, but complied.

Dan turned to Amanda. “How much does Luna know about the Queen’s Protector?”

“I haven’t told her yet.”

Luna looked between them. “Told me what? The Queen’s Protector vanished when she did.” Her eyes narrowed. “Which both of you have been very unconcerned about, by the way.”

“Molly didn’t get a new Protector after the convergence,” Amanda said slowly. “I don’t think a noble can have more than one.”

PJ shook his head. “Not once you’re bound.”

Luna paused. “Her original Protector was…” She frowned. “I thought he died in the convergence—healing the magic.”

“For a while, so did I.” Amanda shook her head.

“His Protector kept that from happening.” PJ slumped in his chair. He was going to miss not seeing Snow randomly around. “Then the magic claimed him and turned him into a full Protector—with all of our limitations, as well.”

“Limitations?”

PJ touched his chest, where his medallion lay resting against his skin. Dan was the only one here to have seen it before, and it felt odd to even consider showing it to illustrate his point. “We all have medallions. We can’t take them off or we’ll die.”

Luna’s eyes widened.

“Your Protector will, after the two of you have gotten used to each other, probably show you theirs.” PJ’s fingers unconsciously traced the familiar raised design on his medallion. “It will have your sigil on it.” He hesitated. “It’s the magic’s way of branding you.”

Luna and Amanda both blinked.

“In any case,” PJ continued, “the Queen’s Protector is still the same person as it was before the war.”

“Garuku Bluemoon?”

Amanda nodded.

“That’s why he wears a mask,” Luna said. “Ohhhh.”

PJ nodded.

“Molly had to leave Primus for her own safety-“ Dan began.

“Were people targeting her?” Luna interrupted.

“Luna!” Amanda frowned at her.

“It’s alright.” Dan slouched in his chair. “I’d rather she ask than make assumptions.” He shrugged slightly. “Anyway, Gar went with her so he could keep doing his job as her Protector.” He took a deep breath, and when he started talking again, his voice was shaking. “A few days ago, we got word that he’d been badly injured, but that he and Molly had managed to get to Hextal and they were under the care of MatPat until Gar was well enough to travel.”

“Okay.” Luna nodded. “Makes sense with what was happening with mom then.”

Amanda rolled her eyes.

“I just got news that…” Dan swallowed. “Gar died to his injuries.”

Everyone’s eyes widened, and all the air seemed to escape PJ all over again.

Gar had always seemed indestructible. He’d lived for over a thousand years and he’d survived countless wars and it was just-

He couldn’t have died.

He wasn’t immortal now, though. He wasn’t exactly mortal—none of the Protectors were, as Felix and Pat could tell you—but immortality wasn’t going to be helping Gar any more.

It was just… wrong.

Gar wasn’t supposed to die. He’d survived so many things that were supposed to have killed him, and that wasn’t supposed to  _ stop. _

“Oh.”

Amanda was the one to say that.

“I thought he was a demon,” Luna said. “And that means he can’t actually die.”

“He’s not, not anymore.” PJ managed. “He’s as mortal as any Protector.”

“So slightly less mortal than the average person.”

“How did you know that?” Dan asked.

Luna shrugged. “Everyone says Protector Static and Protector Kjellberg died to demons during the war—well, Kjellberg right before. But they’re still around. And I don’t think everyone was lying; news like that doesn’t just get around without any reason, so that means they came back to life. Somehow.”

PJ tightened his grip on the arm of his chair and took a deep breath. “Smart.”

“Peej?” Dan asked softly. “Are you alright?”

PJ took another deep breath, trying to calm his own feelings. “No. I wasn’t ready to lose another friend.”

Dan reached over and put a comforting hand on PJ’s arm.

“I- I’ll be okay.” PJ swallowed. “I just wasn’t- wasn’t expecting it.”

Dan squeezed PJ’s arm softly before pulling away.

“Protector Liguori?” Luna asked hesitantly.

“Yes, Heiress?”

“Can I talk to you? Ask you some questions?”

“I can answer questions, Luna,” Amanda said.

“Not this one.”

PJ reached for his crutches. “It’s alright.” He pulled himself to his feet, grunting at the effort it took. “Let’s head to Lord Howell’s office.”

“Luna-“ Amanda broke off when Dan shook his head.

“We need to have a talk of our own,” Dan said.

Amanda frowned, but nodded.


	3. Heiress of the Fourth Realm

Luna hesitated as she looked around Dan’s new office, giving PJ plenty of time to prop the door open. He didn’t want anyone accusing anything, and this would help.

“Here, you can have the chair.” Luna pulled it from out behind the desk.

“Thank you,” PJ said. “There’s another one in the corner.”

Luna pulled it up herself. “Is this one normally yours?”

PJ nodded. “Usually, but,” he lowered himself into Dan’s chair, his body groaning with exhaustion, “he won’t mind me stealing his for this.” They were almost exactly as comfortable as each other, so that was nice—though that was definitely because Dan had made sure to get PJ a nice chair.

“Okay.” Luna hopped up onto PJ’s regular chair.

Her feet didn’t touch the floor. At all.

“So,” PJ said, stowing his crutches next to his chair, “what did you want to talk about?”

“Lord Howell is really quiet. Is he okay?”

PJ blinked, then leaned back in his chair. “I mean, he’s always been quiet. He doesn’t like being the center of attention. Neither of us do.”

“But he’s a Lord.”

“Doesn’t mean he has to like the attention.” PJ dipped his head. “He just does his duty.”

“Duty like running a Realm and making Heirs?”

PJ narrowed his eyes at her. “And maintaining the magic of the Realm.”

“Right.” Luna hugged herself. “And Mom’s been doing that by herself for as long as I can remember. Why was he sent?”

“It’ll help make it easier on your mother, for one. She’ll be able to take vacations and breaks if she wants.”

“She could do that before,” Luna said. “The King and Queen just want me to have half-siblings, don’t they.”

PJ made a face. “No, it’s more complicated than that. But, yes, that will be a part of it. Ideally.”

“Why do we need more nobles?”

“Your tutors haven’t covered this?”

Luna shook her head. “I don’t reach Realm organization lessons for another year, they said.”

“That’s ridiculous.” PJ made a face. “You should at least know the basics by now—which isn’t your fault, since you haven’t been taught it.” He leaned forward, intending to put his right elbow on his knee, but caught himself just before he pitched forward. “Still not used to that.”

Luna just gave him a concerned look.

“In order to function fully, each Realm needs, at the bare minimum, seven nobles. A Lord or a Lady, and then a Duke or Duchess for each of the six districts. Well,” PJ paused, “there are seven districts, but one would be handled by the ruling nobility—in this case, your mother and Lord Howell. Multiply that across all seven Realms, and you have a minimum of 49 nobles. What that  _ doesn’t _ account for is future generations, or accidents, or anything like that.”

Luna nodded.

“So when you account for those, ideally you have a duo of nobles in each position: King and Queen, six sets of Lords and Ladies, and-“ PJ quickly ran through the mental math “-84 Dukes and Duchesses—42 sets. And that number doesn’t account for their children, because eventually all of them have to be replaced, too.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Yes.” PJ paused. “Though Dukes and Duchesses were usually the siblings of the current Lords and Ladies, or cousins, so they didn’t have to worry so much about marrying into nobility, because it wasn’t as much of a big deal if their kids didn’t have nobility magic.”

Luna sighed, clasping her hands tightly on her lap.

“Protector Liguori?”

“Yes, Heiress?”

She scrunched up her face. “Do you have to use my title?”

“Do you have to use mine?”

She frowned. “What else would I call you?”

“My name works just fine.”

She met his eyes. “I don’t know your name.”

“PJ.”

“PJ,” Luna tested the name hesitantly, then, when PJ nodded, nodded herself. “Okay. But only if you call me Luna.”

“Deal.” PJ leaned on the arm of his chair. “So, Luna, what’s your question?”

“Am I going to be put into an arranged marriage?” Luna made a face. “I mean, that’s what happened with mom and Lord Howell, right? And most of the adult nobles, right?”

PJ dipped his head. “Probably.”

Luna sighed. “When would that be? How does it work?”

“You’ll probably find out who it is somewhere between sixteen and eighteen, but it could be later. You’ll be introduced to them at court, when the arrangement will be announced, and you’ll start on the courtship ceremonies. The wedding won’t happen until both of you are at least 21, if that’s any comfort. And your Protector will be there to help provide emotional and mental support.”

“When do I get my Protector?”

“When you’re sixteen, unless they’re significantly younger than you. Then it’ll be a bit later. Thirteen-year-olds aren’t suited for full-time guard work.”

“Have you met them?”

“No. I became a Protector at 14. They wouldn’t have even been born then.”

“Fourteen?”

PJ shrugged. “Phil needed a Protector. He was already significantly older than most when we were bound.”

“Why?”

“I was the magic’s second try at getting him a Protector. The first was older than he was, but... they died pretty early on.” Their parents hadn’t let Greenscale in to deliver the medallion, and they were far too gentle of a Guardian to fight the parents.

“Oh.” Luna frowned. “I thought nobles could only have one Protector. That’s what Mom said, anyway.”

“Once they’re bound, yes.” PJ dipped his head. “Lord Howell can’t have a different Protector now that we’ve been formally bound.” He hesitated. “And, before you ask, a single Protector can have more than one noble.”

Luna blinked. “You’re still bound to Lord Lester?”

PJ nodded.

“How does that work?”

“It…” PJ sighed, closing his eyes. “I’m not sure I can explain it until you and your Protector are on good terms.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

PJ opened his eyes and shrugged. “Things start happening at that point, is all. Nothing bad. You’ll see when the time comes.”

“Can you be more specific than that?”

“Not really, no.”

Luna frowned.

“Not because you aren’t old enough to understand it, but because what happens really depends on you and your Protector,” PJ added. “There are things I expect to happen, but there’s no guarantee they will, and no guarantee other things won’t. A lot of it depends on your magic and your Protector’s magic, and your personalities.”

“I see.” Luna leaned forward in her chair. “Anyway. Lord Howell. You said he was shy, but… there have been a couple times where he’s stopped talking when I walk in the room. Especially right after the assassination attempt.”

PJ sighed. “Well, there could be several reasons for that. There are some things you aren’t allowed to know because you’re not a Lady. There are some things you’re still too young to handle properly. He could still be adjusting to the fact that he’s a step-father now—I haven’t had the chance to properly talk to him about that, all things considered. He could be worried about scaring you.”

“He doesn’t- He doesn’t scare me.”

“He’s not unfamiliar with people your age, you know.” PJ clasped his hands in his lap. “Dil was just two years older when he came to live with Lords Howell and Lester.”

Luna blinked, as if she’d forgotten Dan had already seen someone to adulthood.

“He’s not entirely unfamiliar with you, either. Tabitha spoke very highly of you in the few months between her wedding to Dil and our leaving Triol.”

Oh, he missed Triol. He missed living in the mountains, the levels of the city and each wall around each expansion. It was a hodgepodge of different eras, and while the outer three walls had fallen during the peak of the Suzerain War, the inner six had been fine.

He didn’t miss the feeling of running along the walls to try and keep Dan safe. Or discovering that drifting towards Dan had resulted in him being able to create auditory illusions as well—or that he could use them to make attackers fall off the wall.

He’d done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of in the war.

A lot of the nobles and Protectors had.

“Do you know how he feels about me?”

PJ shrugged. “Again, we haven’t had much time to talk about it, with how my recovery has gone so far, but just off the top of my head?” He examined Luna thoughtfully for a minute. “He’s cautious. He doesn’t dislike you, but he’s worried about what you think of him, and he doesn’t want to force himself into your life any more than he already has. He’s a little confused—he hasn’t spent a lot of time around girls your age since he was your age himself.” PJ did a tiny bit of math. “It’s been over twenty years, so he’s a bit out of practice.”

“You don’t seem confused.”

“I mean, I’m no expert on the matter, but…” PJ made a face. “During the war, there were quite a few girls your age that I ended up teaching how to fight, at least the basics of it, because their parents and oldest siblings were off fighting and they needed to know how in case they were ever in trouble. I never became friends with any of them, that wasn’t why I was there, but it is more exposure than Dan had.”

Luna made a thoughtful face. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You can ask. I can’t promise I’ll answer.” PJ raised an eyebrow.

“When I got old enough that people started talking about Dad,” Luna frowned at the mention of the long-dead Matthias, despite being the one mentioning him, “they always mention that his Protector failed to call him back. What does that mean?”

“Ah.” PJ took a deep breath. “It’s… we’re more than bodyguards. If our noble dies in a way where they’d survive if they had a little more time, or it’s something they could heal from, we can… we can exchange our lives for theirs.”

Luna’s eyes widened.

“In your father’s case, it means he wouldn’t have been able to heal. Considering the reason he died is a broken neck, it’s not terribly surprising.”

“Why didn’t his Protector tell me?”

“Because we die a few minutes after our noble, under normal circumstances. Just enough time to try and call them back.”

Luna hesitated. “Then… When Lord Lester died last winter… Why didn’t you?”

PJ closed his eyes. “That’s a topic for a later discussion.”

“Okay.”

PJ slowly opened his eyes, but instead of looking at Luna again, he looked down the hall, where Dan was approaching, expression grave.

“Alright, Peej, you’ve been up and about for far too long today. You’re so tired you’re making me tired.” Dan put a hand on his hip.

PJ laughed softly. “Liar.”

“Rude.” Dan shook his head. “Seriously, though, you need to rest. Plus, Pat wanted to talk to you.”

PJ reached for his crutches, only to realize his hands were shaking.

Dan frowned, then turned to Luna. “Would you mind helping me for a minute or two?”

“Of course, Lord Howell.” Luna stood from the chair.

“Can you bring PJ’s crutches?”

“Bring-“ PJ sent an incredulous look Dan’s way. “What are you doing?”

In response, Dan grabbed PJ’s arms and hauled him to standing—well, wobbling violently, since he had no way to catch his balance on a second leg, then scooped him up.

“Dan.” PJ frowned at him, though his own fingers were digging into Dan’s tunic for support.

“Healer’s orders, I’m afraid.” Dan started walking down the hall, back to PJ’s rooms. “No more up and about for you today, under any circumstances.”

“Dan.”

Dan’s response came not by way of audible words, but by a feeling sent across their binding—overwhelming concern and fear.

Then, as Dan set PJ down on his bed, he quietly murmured “We’ve lost enough Protectors. Please rest.”


	4. The Protector's Protector

The healer didn’t say much as they tended to Gar’s wounds, but then again, neither did Snow.

Could he really call them Gar’s wounds while he could feel the pain from them? While he was inhabiting his body? Sure, they weren’t exactly his own, but Gar was  _ dead. _ He wasn’t laying claim to them.

Snow could see why Gar had died. He honestly could. There was so much pain that even painkillers and sleeping draughts couldn’t dull it all. It wasn’t generally too bad when he held still—how strange it was to have a body again, even if it wasn’t technically his—but whenever he moved, or breathed too deeply, pain shot across the body.

The body.

That was probably the safest way to refer to it, honestly.

“Alright, Captain,” the healer finally said.

It had been so strange to learn that was what Snow’s prince went by these days.

“You’re healing. Not as quickly as I would have liked, given that it’s been a week and a half since you were wounded, but you are healing. I know it’s been several days since you woke, but you’re not in any condition to be moving around yet—and trust me, we want you moving as soon as possible—so keep doing what you’ve been doing. Rest is the single most productive thing you can do right now.”

Snow nodded slowly, internally grimacing at the pain he was now feeling. How had he managed to take over Gar’s body so thoroughly?

“Any questions?”

Snow hesitated, then nodded again. “You didn’t examine my eyes this time.”

Yep.

Still strange to speak with Gar’s voice.

A pause.

“No. I didn’t. Would you like me to?”

“I just want to know why.”

Another pause. “The more the bandage is off, the more chance of infection.”

Snow frowned. At least the cuts on his face had healed enough that he could make faces without too much pain. “Does it not need to be changed?”

The healer sighed. “Captain... do you realize you’ve likely been blinded?”

Snow swallowed. “I suspected.”

Another moment of hesitation, and then the healer was removing the bandage from around Snow’s eyes. Gar’s eyes? The eyes.

This possession stunt was going to do a number on Snow’s sense of self, that was for sure.

The world lightened slightly, and the vaguest amount of movement flickered above the right eye, but that was it.

“Can you move your eyes, Captain?”

Snow blinked, flinching slightly when he realized the eyes weren’t as smooth under eyelids as he was used to. Scarring. “I think so.”

“Look left, then.”

Snow complied. As expected, he saw nothing.

“And right.”

Still, nothing, though the limited amount of light and movement he was getting from his right eye shifted some.

“Up and then down.”

Still, he complied.

“They can move fine.” The sound of fabric rustling—clothes, maybe? Sitting forward in a chair or fabric against fabric? Snow didn’t know what it meant without visual clues. “Can you follow my hand with them?”

Something moved in front of Snow’s face, and he flinched slightly.

“You can see enough to be aware it’s there, it seems.”

The thing moved slightly, but Snow couldn’t tell where it had gone.

“But not enough to track it.” The healer  _ hmm _ -ed. “Maybe with time, and more healing, more of your sight will return to you. Until we know for sure, keeping the bandage over your eyes will keep them from further damage.”

The words “I’m already blind, what difference will it make” were sitting on Snow’s tongue, ready to tumble out, but they didn’t.

“Thank you,” he said instead. Seemed like something Gar would say.

“Certainly.” More rustling of fabric, and the softest of steps. Had the healer stood, then? “Her majesty wishes to speak with you. Do you have the energy to do so?”

Snow nodded. Sure, he slept a lot, but he still had hours of time where he had nothing at all to do but think.

He was kind of tired of thinking by this point in time.

“I’ll let her know.” Then footsteps, and a door opening and closing, and then nothing.

Snow sighed, using the fingers on his left hand to crawl his arm and stretch it.

It hurt, and not in a good way.

He really needed to start moving soon, or he’d be in serious trouble.

Though, to be fair, his arms were also covered in claw marks. It made sense that they’d hurt when moving.

Best not to risk damaging Gar’s body more.

Snow dragged his arm back to his side, breath catching at the pain the movement brought.

The door opened once again, and another set of footsteps got a bit louder. Then the door clicked closed, and the sound of a chair scraping slightly on the floor grated.

“How are you feeling?” Molly asked simply.

“Like I’m not in my body, and that this one is broken,” Snow replied blandly.

“Well,” and with that one word Molly sounded exhausted, “you’re not wrong.”

Snow frowned. “Your majesty, you need to rest.”

“I-” Molly’s breath caught. “I know. I tried. I just... I’m not used to being alone anymore.”

“Alone?”

“Even when Gar hasn’t been in the same room as me, I’ve been able to sense him. And Wade’s been with me every day for over six years now. It was bad enough being away from him, but...”

“I see.” Snow pursed his lips. “Sounds difficult. Unfortunately, I can’t help at all with that.”

“How comforting,” Molly said dryly.

Snow smiled slightly. “Good.”

Molly snorted.

Snow pursed his lips, thinking. Something had occurred to him in his hours of thinking. “Your majesty, why didn’t Gar just kill the rogue dragon when you were in Iplier?”

A long pause.

“None of us have the ability to kill a dragon,” Molly said slowly.

Snow raised an eyebrow. “Did he forget?”

“Forget what?”

Snow frowned. “Apparently so.”

“Are you suggesting Gar knows how to kill a dragon?”

“He used to. It’s been a thousand years since he learned, though it’s not something I’d think he’d forget.”

Another pause. Then, hesitantly, “He’s mentioned in the past that he doesn’t remember most of the thousand years.”

Snow  _ hmm _ -ed. “That’s the doing of demon magic. The memories are still there, just hidden. I’ve teased a few out before.”

“You have?”

Snow sighed, then coughed as broken ribs protested the action. “After he broke the magic, demon magic sunk its threads into him and wrapped around his memories. It was nearly fifty years before I found out, and by then some things were permanently damaged—much like what happened to Lord Howell—but some things I was able to uncover. Like who I was to him, and the names and meanings of the other two in his personal guard. He remembered some other things by himself, as the demon magic aged, but… I thought how to kill a dragon would be one of them.”

“Well, you’re his Protector. Do you know how to do it?” Molly asked.

“It’s more than a matter of knowing how, your majesty,” Snow replied, surprised to hear how weary his voice had become. He was due for more sleep, then. “It’s also a matter of having the right tools.”

“What do you mean?”

Snow let his eyes drift closed. “I’m not the best person to talk about that. I don’t know all the details.”

“Oh.”

A pause.

“Snow?”

“Yes, your majesty?”

“What will happen to you when I call Gar back? After we reach the Guardians, I mean.”

Snow shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of a twice-dead Protector inhabiting their noble’s body before, when said noble is also a Protector themselves. I suppose I could become a shade like before. I do know that I’m not going to return to the realm of the dead until I have to.”

Molly hummed slightly.

“You won’t be left alone, your majesty.” Snow grimaced as a sharp throb from the numerous still-healing stabs and claws in his abdomen and chest demanded attention. “As I said before, I will aid you to the best of my ability.”

Molly sighed. “I know. I just… want this whole ordeal to be over. I want to be with Wade. I wanted him there when our child is born. But… none of that is going to happen, is it? I won’t get to see him again until this is all over, if it ever is.”

“Eventually, it will end.”

“Will it end while I’m still alive?”

“I don’t know. I asked myself that a lot with the Empire. First with the war against it, and then waiting for it to fall.” He sighed. “And then I asked it about my prince being yanked around by demon magic like a puppet on unbreakable strings. And then I asked it about Suzerain.” He frowned. “I thought I was done.”

“A thousand years is a long time to ask that.”

“It is,” Snow agreed, then paused. “I can’t help but notice this body is older than I remember it being. He’s been aging like normal, then?”

“Alongside us, yeah.”

“How old does he seem to be?”

“I mean, he’s over a thousand years old.”

“So am I,” Snow said dryly. “I’m asking how he looks.”

“About thirty.”

Snow raised an eyebrow. “Not bad for his age.”

“No. He looks younger than the Guardians, at least.”

“Well, four of the five are older than him by at least two hundred years.”

“Oh?”

“The fifth is only younger by 25 years or so,” Snow said dismissively. “Pretty close, all things considered.”

“Have I met this one?”

“I doubt it. They don’t really venture into the outside world.” Snow sighed, somehow hovering on the edge of sleep and conversation. “I hate to cut the conversation short, your majesty, but I don’t know how much longer I’ll be coherent.”

A chair grating slightly. “Of course.”

“Rest yourself,” Snow added.

Silence.

“He’ll have my head if he learns I didn’t at least try to make sure you were okay.”

Molly chuckled slightly, something painful in the sound. “I’ll try.”

“Do you still have the necklace his majesty gave you for the courtship ceremonies?”

A pause.

“How did you know about that?” Molly asked suspiciously.

“Gar had me keep track of you when he couldn’t.”

“Oh.” Another pause. “Yeah. I still have it. Why?”

“Try sleeping with the pendant in your hand. It might help.”

A third pause.

“I’ll try it.”

With that, the sound of the door opening and closing could be heard.

Snow sighed, and let himself fall into sleep.


	5. First Steps

Hextal was a pretty enough city, Jason supposed. Sure, it almost always smelled like salt, and the water between them and the Land of the Squirrels was short enough that he could actually see smoke rising from the area of Iplier and sometimes even the dragon causing so much chaos, but if you ignored that…

It was easy to ignore it today, at least, the heavy cloud cover obscuring the opposite coastline. Sunlight streaming through the clouds made stunning shimmers across the ocean surface, but the rest made it pretty clear it was going to rain.

“Are you sure he’s ready for that?” Molly asked the healer, and Jason looked away from the window facing said opposite coast to where the two were talking.

“He’s already restless. I don’t expect him to get far, but for the sake of his mental health, he needs to.”

Molly gave an uncertain glance to Jason, and he shrugged. He hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation, and he didn’t have a binding with Molly to know what she was feeling.

After all, he was just on loan. Someone had to guard Molly. Snow wasn’t in any condition to do it, and, as much as Jason loved the fortress guard, they didn’t have the training in following someone literally everywhere while remaining inconspicuous.

(It was surprising the number of people that completely overlooked Jason, despite the fact that, up until Molly had arrived a fortnight ago, he was almost always at MatPat’s side. Well, at his side and a few feet behind him during formal and structured events. One of the guards in the fortress guard who’d been working in it since right after the war ended six and a half years ago had, just the other day, asked who Jason was.

Chris, the head of Steph’s personal guard, had had to explain it because Jason was too busy laughing.)

Molly spread her hands a bit. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” the healer said. They paused, then continued. “I get the feeling the Captain won’t like having to hold onto strangers for support, but he’s not strong enough to support himself yet.”

“I’ll help him,” Jason said.

The healer blinked. “Is he comfortable with that?”

“We’ve touched before.” Granted, previous touches had been joking and roughhousing, but it was more than anyone else had. Snow had also literally phased through Jason a couple of times when he was still in training to try and freak him out, so they were close.

(Jason decided not to think about how much he’d screamed when that had happened.)

The healer looked at him for a minute more, then nodded again. “Alright. I’ll let him know. When did you want to help him?”

Jason glanced out the window again. Something told him it wouldn’t be very good for Snow—Gar’s body—to be outside with the imminent rain. “Any time is fine. We’ll just be in the halls.”

“I seriously doubt he’ll be able to handle more than five or so minutes of being up and about, if that. His body’s still very weak.”

“I’ll be careful with him,” Jason promised. Not that that meant he was going to treat him like some sort of glass—he’d survive a few tumbles to the floor. Not that Jason was planning on dropping him, either.

The healer bit their lip for a minute, then nodded. “If you want to stop by in about an hour, I can have him ready by then. I need to check everything to make sure it’ll hold up to the strain.”

Jason just nodded, and the healer nodded back before walking off.

“So,” Jason said, turning back to Molly, “do we know what the plans are for travel for you from here on?”

“Gar mentioned something about Redscale, but he didn’t go into specifics.”

“None of the Guardians have contacted you about it?”

Molly shook her head.

“Alright.” Jason made a face. “I’ll do that, then.”

“I’m going to talk to Wade,” Molly said. “It’s… we haven’t spoken since Gar got hurt, and he’s probably worried out of his mind.”

\-----

“Hello, Jason,” Greenscale said as they answered the communication spell. “I didn’t expect to be hearing from you.”

“Hello, Cenn.” The familiar term fell off Jason’s tongue before he could stop it, getting an amused chuckle in return. “I’m asking about the arrangements for Molly.”

“Ah.” Greenscale was quiet for a minute, then sighed. “If Redscale doesn’t come get her, then I will.”

“And Snow?”

A pause.

“Snow’s been dead for six years, Jason.”

“I mean, that’s sort of true.”

“Please tell me you haven’t taken up necromancy.” The despair in Greenscale’s voice was audible.

“That’s a viable magic?”

“I’m not answering that.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Anyway, no, I haven’t. We don’t know how it happened, but when Gar died-“

“No, don’t stick that in your mouth—yes I can see you.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. Sounded like this bunch of trainee Protectors was already a handful.

“Sorry,” Greenscale sighed, “do go on.”

“When Gar died, Snow somehow inhabited his body instead.”

A long, long silence.

“What?”

“I’m guessing that’s never happened before.”

“No. It hasn’t.” Greenscale sounded a bit upset at that, a fact that didn’t distract Jason from the muttered, “Of course it had to be Snow.”

“He’s promised to do his best to help Molly until she can call Gar back, but… we don’t know what’s going to happen then. Also he hasn’t recovered enough to move around by himself, so I don’t know how he was planning on making good on his promise.”

“Well, it honestly won’t be long until she’ll be able to call Gar back. No longer than a few weeks. I just… don’t know how Snow inhabiting Gar’s body would change things.”

“How does it normally work?”

“Normally by the time a Protector is called back, their body has already started decomposing, and whatever killed them in the first place would keep them from using said body. Which is why I’m confused. Why can Snow use Gar’s body but Gar couldn’t?”

“Snow said Gar was exhausted when he found him near the border, whatever that means.”

Greenscale hummed slightly. “It’s informative.”

“You know what the border is?”

“The border between life and death. You’ve never been yourself, but perhaps your noble will be able to tell you something about it—No, don’t climb the tree with a broken arm, that’s how you got it in the first place.”

Jason chuckled. “Sounds like you have your hands full.”

“Oh, trust me,” Greenscale almost seemed to purr, “nothing this generation has done has stressed me nearly as much as yours. It’s a walk around the courtyards in comparison.”

“We weren’t that bad,” Jason automatically protested, even as hundreds of occasions came to mind of getting reprimanded by either Greenscale or Bluescale, or being frowned disapprovingly at by Grayscale.

Greenscale didn’t say anything, and the silence continued stretching.

More breaking of the rules and roughhousing and general stupidity came to mind.

“Everyone has their phases.”

“Well,” Greenscale sighed, “at least you all seem to have grown out of it. It only took some… twenty years since I first met you all?”

“You act like that’s a long time.”

“It’s to be expected for dragonlings,” Greenscale said dryly, “but the oldest humans only live a fifteenth of the time of dragons, so I would hope you matured faster.”

“No. Spending a fair chunk of your life being an idiot is pretty normal.”

“I know. I’ve been doing this for a while. You lot just took longer than normal.” Greenscale paused, then sighed. “I have things I need to attend to. If you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course.”

And Greenscale was gone.

Jason frowned. On the plus side, it sounded like his daughter wasn’t getting in nearly as much trouble as he had as a kid new to the Guardians.

That was something.

Not that he was sure Greenscale would tell him if she was acting up. While she was with the Guardians, after all, he wasn’t allowed to interfere with anything.

Jason sighed and pushed the thoughts aside. He’d think about it later.

\-----

Snow had had no problems voicing his complaints about moving around, much to Jason’s annoyance. On the other hand, Jason had had no problems voicing his readiness to just leave Snow in the room.

So here they were.

Snow was gasping for air, and his entire body was shaking from effort, but he was still standing—with most of his weight on Jason, granted, but still.

“So, uh, you ready to tackle actually moving?”

Snow cursed. Several times. “Would much appreciate it if we just stood here.” The words tumbled out as a wheeze, and Jason tightened his grasp around Snow’s waist.

“Alright.”

Slowly, Snow’s breathing got more and more even, but it never actually got even. Probably because standing hurt.

Jason looked down at Snow and frowned. “Let’s start with just walking around the room. I don’t think you’re really ready for the hall.”

Snow nodded. “Deal.”

Snow’s arm over Jason’s shoulder tightened as they took the first small step.

And then even more as Snow fell into Jason.

“You took it too fast,” Jason said simply. “Let’s try it again.”

“How would you know that?”

“I have taught both my children to walk,” Jason murmured.

Snow hesitated, then pulled himself back up, a half-quizzical, half-concerned expression on his face. “You have children?”

“Yes.” Two and one on the way, though it was early enough with the third that Jason hadn’t even told MatPat yet.

“You aren’t worried about their magic?”

“Olivia has already gotten a medallion,” Jason sighed, “and it’s too early to tell for the second one.”

“Jason…” The word was filled with such emotion, and Jason clenched his jaw.

“What was it like when you got your medallion?” He finally asked.

“I mean, I don’t remember it. I was like four. Why?” Snow frowned.

“I guess I should ask what it was like being a Royal Protector, then.”

Snow went quiet for a long minute, instead shuffling forward several steps. Then, “She got a black medallion, then.”

“Yes.”

“Well, considering the Heir hasn’t been born yet, she’ll be a lot older than them. That’s not a luxury I got. Gar and I were close in age.” He sighed, and Jason got the impression that, had Snow’s eyes been uncovered, he would have closed them. “She’ll have brutal training. They’ll give her a chance to be a child, of course, but once she gets old enough to handle it, she’ll get more training than you ever did.”

Jason winced. “What do you mean?”

“There are a few extra things Royal Protectors have to master before they’re bound.”

“Like?”

Snow grunted. “Secrets.”

Jason sent him a disgruntled look, but Snow didn’t notice. Probably because of the blindfold over his eyes. “That’s not terribly helpful.”

“I’ve been known to be like that.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Then why’d you go through the trouble of trying to drag Gar back? You would have been fine if you hadn’t.”

“Tell me, Protector Parker,” Snow said chillingly, “if you could save Lord Patrick from death by risking this, would you?”

“No.”

Snow raised an eyebrow, even as something deep inside Jason rebelled at his own words.

“Not... I wouldn’t want to inhabit his body.”

“It wasn’t in my plans, either,” Snow pointed out. “If you could save Lord Patrick from death, being dead yourself, would you do it?”

Jason kept his mouth shut, but they both knew the answer.

“Exactly.” Snow sighed. “Besides, Gar’s been dwelling on the past an awful lot lately, and I couldn’t move on until he was truly happy in life.”

“You’re saying he wasn’t happy?”

“Oh, he was content often, but he still has a few dreams he’s been chasing for a thousand years. As you do.”

Jason frowned slightly.

“Plus,” Snow shrugged slightly, leaning more of his weight into Jason, “he wants to know about his daughter. They never even got to talk. Met for all of twenty seconds at one point, but that was it.”

Jason stopped moving and just stared at Snow in horror.

Snow tilted his head. “You didn’t know?”

“I knew he had a child at some point, but... I didn’t know that.”

“Just the one, as far as I know. She was born when while we were off at war, and I didn’t tell him about her like I was supposed to, because then he’d want to go home and he was needed on the field.” Snow grimaced. “He wasn’t happy with me when he found out, but it kind of got lost when he got turned into a demon a few minutes later and I got trapped in a decomposing body.” Snow paused, almost completely hanging off Jason. “Gar had me run with her. I never asked what happened to his wife, since every noble in the city showed up dead that night.” The second part seemed added almost as an afterthought, and Jason’s heart sunk more.

“I took his daughter to the Guardians. It was all I could think of doing. There weren’t as many of them back then, just Bluescale and her father—Redscale, if you were wondering—and Bluescale had only just been bound to the magic a few months by the time I got there. She wasn’t very old herself, not even an adult.” Snow frowned. “But she did her best. I did my best to help, even though I’m not sure how to raise children. She’d send me out to find common-born nobles or hidden children of nobles as the years ran into decades, and between the two of us we managed to keep the royal blood going for hundreds of years, but...” Snow sighed. “Gar was too much of a puppet to the Empire to even remember she existed. Or that I did, for that matter.”

Just the thought of MatPat forgetting Jason existed made some part of him shrivel and cry. After all, he was a Protector. He was _nothing_ without his noble. He was _dead_ without his noble. And to be trapped in eternity with said noble, but ignored and forgotten for _hundreds_ of years... how had Snow handled that?

“I’ve had enough for today,” Snow said, and this time his voice was incredibly tired. “I’d like to rest now.”

Jason helped Snow back to the bed (not that they’d managed to get far anyway) and got him settled, then quietly excused himself.


	6. Practice

The fortress in Septimal was still a few years to completion, but parts of it were up and functioning now. Namely, the training courtyard.

While JP fussed over Cat and made sure she was safe in Bob’s hands (well, that he was watching her as she crawled around and investigated everything so she didn’t get hurt), Amile checked over her armor one last time. Not just because she wanted to make sure it was on properly, but she had to make sure it was sitting the right way. Otherwise, when she started moving around, it would feel weird—weird meaning awful enough that she wanted to scratch her own skin off to get it off.

Okay. Everything was sitting the way it was supposed to.

“You ready?” JP asked as he walked over.

Amile nodded, then flicked her gaze to the two swords JP had brought. “I thought we agreed not to use Tapestry in practice.” It had just about broken her swords, after all, the last time JP had used it.

“I mean... yes.” JP rolled his shoulders, and Amile gave him an even look. “But it’s a sword. What good is it if it doesn’t get used for something from time to time?”

“We’re on the verge of war, Jeremiah.” Amile drew her dual swords, settling into a resting position with them. “I’m sure you’ll get a lot of use out of Tapestry when that happens.”

JP frowned, an expression Amile hadn’t learned how to read on him yet flicking across his face. “I’d like to avoid war. It’s stolen enough of my life as it is.” His gaze flicked to where Cat must have been, then he swallowed. “I don’t want it taking more.”

Amile glanced over her shoulder to see Cat crunching leaves in her little hands and smiled despite herself.

JP was sad, though, so she turned her attention back to him.

JP looked at Cat for a minute more, then looked at Amile. He swallowed, then sighed. “Amile... if that rogue dragon comes here... take her and run.”

Amile frowned. “What about you?”

“I’ve survived one war.” JP shrugged, then frowned again. “But... even if I didn’t, she’s more important than I am. The Seventh Realm will need her.”

“But if you fall in battle, I’ll die too, and then she won’t have anyone to take care of her. She’s too young to survive on her own.”

“Take her to the Guardians. It’s closer than Primus, though I’m honestly not sure which one is more well-protected.” JP drew his sword, his regular one, and tilted the blade slightly, forcing light to dance across it. “And... yeah. It has a good chance of ending up with both of us dead.” He looked up, stepping halfway into a fighting pose. “But...”

“I’ll speak with the Guardians about this after our training,” Amile said simply, stepping into one of her own ready stances. “They should have warning.”

JP smiled and raised his sword. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

\-----

Amile gladly took another drink of water. Training was hard and hot, even with the worst of the heat eased by the cool fall air.

She glanced over her shoulder at JP again, frowning when he rubbed his hip before dumping more leaves on Cat, who burbled and cheered and tried to grab them all before dropping everything to grab the one that bopped her nose.

Amile smiled and sipped at her water again before walking over.

“Mill! Leef!” Cat declared proudly, holding up the now half-crushed leaf in her hands.

“It’s quite large.”

Cat babbled something excitedly, though what she was attempting to say was beyond Amile.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re saying,” she informed the toddler.

Cat nodded gravely and then went straight back to babbling.

Amile chuckled, but turned her attention to JP. “You doing okay?”

He grimaced and pressed a hand to his hip. “I think we overdid it. I haven’t hurt this much in months.”

“It’s getting colder,” Amile pointed out, “and that always makes you ache. But we’ll be more careful. Are you up for more, or no?”

“I’d like to just sit here and let the pain die down a bit, if that’s alright with you.”

“Do you want me to take some of the pain?”

JP shook his head. “It’s not that bad, at least not yet.”

Amile nodded slowly, but accepted it. “Alright.”

JP’s gaze flicked behind her for the briefest of seconds, the faintest of smiles touching his face, before Cat was crawling between them and demanding attention.

Amile let JP deal with his daughter and glanced over her shoulder to see one of the construction workers watching them.

He looked away as soon as Amile noticed him.

“He’s been watching you for a couple weeks now,” JP offered. “Rumors have it he fancies you.”

“How would you know that?”

JP smiled. “I asked.”

“Then why hasn’t he just talked to me?”

JP spread his hands. “Because you’re the quiet and no-nonsense Protector of the Lord of the Seventh Realm and that title in itself is intimidating?”

Amile just frowned at him.

“If you’re curious, go talk to him,” JP waved her off, turning his attention back to Cat. “Oh, wow, that’s a  _ huge _ leaf. It’s as big as your head!”

Amile played with her strap on her gauntlet, debating, then took a deep breath and walked over to where the workers were.

“Good morning, Protector Crestwood,” the overseer said politely. “I can get a progress report to Lord Woodward within an hour.”

“I actually didn’t come over for that,” Amile said, glancing at the workers. The same one was looking at her again, she noticed.

“Oh? How can I help?”

“The one in the middle, what’s his name?”

“That’s Joshua Fenton. Why?”

“May I speak with him for a minute?”

“Sure.” The overseer made a face. “Honestly wouldn’t mind if it was longer, he’s a hard worker and has earned a longer break.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” The overseer bowed a little before returning to her previous task.

Amile walked over, sending titters and laughs through the workers surrounding Joshua, and he visibly swallowed.

“Hello, Protector Crestwood,” Joshua said, voice shaking. “How can we help you?”

“I heard rumors about you and wanted to know if they were true.”

Joshua blinked. “Rumors?”

“Lord Woodward tells me you fancy me, but he’s a bit ridiculous sometimes.”

Joshua seemed to choke on something.

“Well,” Joshua managed after a moment, “he’s not wrong. You’re amazing.”

“He watches you more than working whenever you’re here,” one of the other workers snidely remarked.

“And somehow, he still gets more work done than you,” a third replied.

Amile decided it was better to ignore them and turned her attention back to Joshua, who was looking… nervous? Uncertain? Embarrassed? She wasn’t quite sure exactly what emotion he was showing on his face right now.

“I’d have to ask Lord Woodward for the night off-“

“Take it,” JP pitched in from where he was sitting, “please.”

“-but would you be interested in getting to know each other? No commitments, not yet, just talking.”

Joshua bowed slightly, smiling. “That sounds wonderful, Protector.”

\-----

One of the benefits of Septimal being a port town was that when Amile was stressed beyond what she could relieve through her usual methods, she could venture down to shore and sit and listen to the ocean.

It wasn’t really relieving stress today.

She sighed and leaned back on her hands and frowned, staring at the reflection of the rising moons dancing on the water.

The blue moon, in particular, held her attention.

It was, by far, the smallest of the moons, nearly half the size of the golden moon, but it had always been the most important to her. She had been born under a full blue moon—they weren’t terribly uncommon, after all, happening a couple times a year—and when the Guardians had found out about that, Greenscale had taken her up to the roof where Redscale always seemed to sleep and introduced her to the grumpy old dragon.

Redscale told her story after story about another Protector that had been born under a blue moon, a very long time ago. He’d never specified just how long ago, but as she got older and asked the other Guardians about this other Protector, she’d learned he’d died before either Grayscale or Greenscale had even come to the Realms, though Bluescale had memories of him as he grew up.

When she’d been claimed and started watching JP through the pools, and was struck by how silly he was, she’d wondered if this ancient Protector had gone through the same things. When JP was stolen away by demons and the pools couldn’t show him any more, she’d sat there and cried—because what was she without a noble?

Dead, that was what.

That night, she’d been approached by something that looked like a shadow, but wasn’t. If he’d been a shadow, she would have been able to sense him, bend him to her will.

Instead, he’d sat next to her and spoken, introduced himself as Snow, as the Protector Redscale had been telling her about for all these years.

And, once she’d gathered the courage, she asked him why he was still around after a thousand years.

He’d waved his hand over the pool and ordered it to show them ‘his prince,’ and, despite Amile’s convictions that it wouldn’t work—Redscale had said Snow’s noble had been slain on the field of battle, after all—the pool rippled and showed a terrifying image: a giant wolf with a bat wing and mismatched eyes.

And next to the demon was JP, all battered and bruised and looking near-death.

She and Snow had talked long into the night, him offering comfort and reassurances, and telling her the parts of the story Redscale had left out: that he had been a Royal Protector, for one, and his prince was born under a true blue moon; that he himself had died on the field of battle but had been prevented from entering his medallion by his prince’s healing magic; that his prince had been turned into a demon that night.

But they’d both persisted, these two men born on blue moons, for a millennia by then. It had been hard, Snow admitted, but he was determined that sooner or later the two of them would get happy endings. It was just the way of those born under the blue moon.

Footsteps padded softly on the rock near her, and for a split-second, Amile thought it was Snow. But that was impossible, he’d been dead for good for years now.

“Protector?” Joshua’s voice said hesitantly.

Amile glanced up. “Good evening,” she greeted.

“Lord Woodward said I would find you here, but,” Joshua sat next to her slowly, “I wasn’t sure how he knew that.”

“It’s one of my favorite spots,” Amile said simply, returning her gaze to the ocean. (Not that Joshua was bad-looking. Quite the opposite, actually.)

“If you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing before I interrupted?”

“Contemplating mortality.”

Joshua frowned faintly. “Oh.”

A long moment of silence.

Then, “I know of a cove not far from here where the water glows at night.”

Amile looked over at Joshua. “Oh?”

He grinned at her. “Want to go look at it with me?”

“How could I resist such a charming offer.” Amile raised an eyebrow at Joshua, and he flushed, but got up all the same. “Lead the way.”


	7. Mourning

The forests north of Primus were quiet, stilled by the cool autumn air and the early morning quietness that always accompanied everything.

Getting Wade up early enough to ride here had not been an easy task.

“Why are we here?” Wade wrapped his reins tighter around one hand, looking around unhappily.

“We’re visiting a grave,” Pat said simply, urging his horse deeper into the royal burial grounds.

Wade looked over in surprise, but didn’t say anything as they passed the graves of his parents and siblings, and then grandparents, and great-grandparents.

When Pat kept leading them deeper into the burial grounds, though, Wade hesitated.

“Come on,” Pat said.

“I’ve… never been deeper in than this. How far back are we going?”

“One of the oldest surviving tombs belongs to the last king before the Empire,” Pat said by way of explanation.

“That… why are we going there?”

“Well, custom would dictate that his son be buried near him. Which, we can’t do because of the whole ‘Gar died in Hextal and Snow’s using his body’ thing, but we can pretend.”

“Gar’s father is buried here?”

Pat glanced over his shoulder to see Wade giving him an incredulous look, and nodded. “Has been for longer than you or I have even been alive.” In fact, the only person who’d been around for the funeral was Gar himself.

“So, uh,” Wade said slowly as they continued riding, “how do you... how did you find out which tomb was his?”

Pat patted his horse comfortingly as it fidgeted. They were entering thick trees, and soon they’d have to dismount and continue on foot or risk hurting the horses. 

“Gar showed me.”

A long pause. Then, "When have you two been gone long enough to come all the way out here?"

"You were busy," Pat replied blandly, peering into the trees. Okay. They were almost there, but the ground ahead was covered in roots and moss and plants. Difficult enough to navigate on foot, and downright impossible for the horses. "We need to dismount here."

A pause as Pat dismounted and transferred his sword from its riding sheath to its regular place at his hip—something he'd have to undo when it came time to head back, for the sake of actually being able to draw his sword if he needed it—and picked out the best path to take.

"You still haven't really said why we're here," Wade finally said, following more slowly—not because he was a slow guy, but because he had to duck under a lot of branches.

“Well, I told the Royal Guard I was bringing you here so you could visit graves before everything got all buried in snow, but in reality I think this’ll help you.”

“Help me how?”

Pat cursed softly as he stumbled on a root, sending his ankle twisting violently. Hopefully there was no actual damage done to it and it would just smart for an hour or so. “You’ll see.”

“That’s not helpful.”

Pat winced as he put weight on his foot, bracing himself for the worst, but while he got a throb and a dull ache, there wasn’t actually any pain. It would be a rough hour or so, but it’d be okay.

“Just come on.”

They picked their way through the roots and trees, getting slower and slower as everything got thicker and it got harder to see. Grassy mounds were obvious if one glanced around, cracked and degraded stones revealing faded words in a language that had long been forgotten, worn so smooth it was almost impossible to see what sigils had been carved so long ago.

Pat brought them to a stop in front of one of these.

This particular one stood higher than the rest, tree roots so deeply entwined into the stone and moss and grass that one could argue they made more of the tomb than the original stone did. Warm morning sun filtered through the thick canopy of leaves overhead, speckling the dome with light and shadow that shifted slightly as breeze ran through the trees.

“This,” Pat took a deep breath, “this is the tomb of the last King before the Empire.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Of Gar’s father.”

Wade slowly stepped forward until he was even with Pat, quiet filling the air between them and some sort of wonder filling their bond.

“I only know what Gar’s told me about him, and he doesn’t remember nearly as much as he wants, but from what I can tell, he was a good man. The younger of his children was four when the Empire attacked and he spent most of their childhood away from them, trying to make sure they’d end up with a future.” Pat sighed, remembering how Gar had told this story. “He died when Gar was 20, forcing Gar to leave his new wife and take up the fighting himself. And you know how that went.”

Pat put a hand on the tomb, moss soft under his fingertips.

“Even the kindest history books I’ve found mentioning him have scorned him as a failure, saying that if he’d done his job as king properly, the Realms never would have fallen.” Pat dug his fingers into the moss. “Of course, said books were written by people who had never seen either war or demons, and who spent their life judging dead people under the name of scholarship instead of talking to living ones.”

Wade seemed to realize Pat wasn’t anywhere near done talking, since his only response was to reach forward and touch the moss himself.

Granted, they’d been bound for over two decades now. They knew how the other worked plenty well.

“I’ve heard the rumors going around the palace,” Pat continued.

Instantly, resigned alarm filled their bond. Not exactly an emotion often described as such, but it was the only words Pat could use.

“Most everyone seems to know we might be going to war again, and nobody is happy about it. Some of the names you’ve been called are… uncomplimentary.” That was an understatement. “Those who’ve been around the palace for a while seem to realize you’re as unhappy about it as everyone, but… those who haven’t met you at all are just about ready for you to go down in history as a blood-thirsty monarch.”

“What fun,” Wade said blandly.

Pat snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

Wade just shook his head.

“In any case, I just thought I’d bring you here as a reminder that no matter how this war ends,” because there was no doubt in either of their minds that they would once again be going to war, but this time to aid the Land of the Squirrels, “you are the only person who determines how you act. It doesn’t matter what other people think of you, or what you’ll be remembered for in history—or if you’ll even be remembered at all. You can’t control those things. Too many people know of you; no matter what you do, someone will hate you for it. Just...” Pat took a deep breath. “Just make sure you’re doing what you think is right. And try not to make too many big mistakes.”

Wade sighed, head bowing and eyes closing. “I never wanted to be king,” he murmured, the words holding so much more meaning under the surface.

Pat knew what he meant.

Wade had never wanted the responsibility of being in charge of others’ well being, of running a country, of having his life dictated by duty and necessity.

“Nobody does.”

Wade frowned, then his shoulders set and he straightened as much as the low-hanging branches would allow. He looked at his hand, still buried in the moss, for a long, long moment. Then he nodded.

Quiet conviction filled their bond, and Pat smiled. The Realms might be headed for war once again, but at least Wade would have a solid head on his shoulders.


	8. The Quiet Reflection

Pebbles crunched softly underfoot, grating as Cry and Felix continued on their walk around the lake.

“Are you sure about this?” Felix asked. “It’s not too late to turn back.”

“If we’re to go to war again, I want to be prepared.” Cry peered ahead. “That clearing will do.”

Felix glanced at the cloudy sky once more and made a face. “It’s my job as your Protector to inform you that you’re being a complete idiot and this is a terrible idea.”

“Noted.” Cry didn’t even glance over his shoulder as he continued walking.

Felix sighed.

They’d both done their fair share of stupid things in the past—some things more stupid than others—but now that Cry had been running the Fifth Realm for almost a decade, Felix had hoped that at least one of them had grown out of it.

Finally, Cry came to a stop in the clearing he’d noticed earlier.

It was a nice enough clearing, Felix supposed, with the conifer trees that were everywhere in the Realm and one of the many mountain rivers that flowed into the giant lake rushing by on the other side.

Cry settled cross-legged in the middle of the clearing with only a brief, “Don’t get too close” before going completely silent.

Felix just sighed and walked over to the river bank, nudging pebbles with his toe before he finally stopped and watched the water rush over the rocks and tree branches stuck in said rocks.

War was coming. Both he and Cry knew it. He knew that. He didn’t know why they weren’t just talking about it to each other like that, but they’d get over it sooner or later. They were good friends, but they weren’t exactly the most communicative pair of noble and Protector out there.

Maybe...

Maybe it was because Felix had missed the entirety of the last war, but Cry had lived through it, had fought in it.

Cry had fought and planned and bled in the war and Felix had been stuck in his medallion for all but the final day of fighting.

They’d yet to talk about the day Felix had died, he realized with a start, glancing over his shoulder to Cry before carefully pulling his emotions away from the bond between them. He didn’t need to distract Cry’s high-effort training with messy emotions.

It had happened so quickly, there wasn’t any way for the emotions to be not messy.

Felix turned his gaze back to the river.

He’d died to a demon. Not that there was anything wrong about that, since demons were scary and fearsome and lots of people died to demons. No, the real thing here was that he hadn’t died protecting Cry, like he’d supposed to have done as Cry’s Protector.

He’d died protecting Pat.

The logical part of his mind pointed out that it hadn’t exactly been Felix’s choice. Pat had been so distressed about Wade that he’d called for help from the only other Protector there without even realizing it, and any plain nobile Protector was going to instinctively respond to any distress call by any royal Protector.

The rest of him wasn’t too happy with that. After all, dying wasn’t fun in the first place—the least that could have happened was Felix  _ doing his job _ and dying to save  _ Cry. _ But that hadn’t happened.

Sure, him dying when he did and the way he did meant that Pat survived to let the searchers know that Wade was alive and about where he was, which definitely saved Wade’s life, and dying to save the then Crown Prince was certainly an honorable thing.

It just... wasn’t what Felix was supposed to do with his death.

Felix sighed.

He hadn’t even been useful in death. The only connection he’d had to the outside world was Snow, whenever he had time to come visit and just talk for a little bit, but those days had been few and far between. He hadn’t provided any useful information to JP and Amile when the time came for JP to steal his medallion, and it was really a miracle at all that he’d managed to be taken away without any of the Guardians stopping them.

Felix buried his head in his hands.

Even after Ohm had called him back, he’d almost lost Cry. He’d barely managed to get Cry’s mask off in time for him to breathe safely, and it had taken all of Felix’s attention and far too long for comfort to get Cry back to full health.

He-

Felix lowered his hands to carefully feel for Cry through their bond, getting a quiet thrum in response. Cry was too busy focusing to respond, of course, but just being aware he was there in more than the typical ways was much more comforting than Felix ever wanted to admit to Cry.

He was safe, at least for now.

Which was more comfort than Gar would have about Molly.

Felix stared at the water again, trying desperately to not follow that train of thought.

It didn’t work so well.

He knew what it was like to be in a medallion, to have only the faintest of whispers of the Protector bond that used to thrum with life and every emotion. He knew what it was like to reach out with all of your energy to offer comfort when the faintest signals of distress floated through the nothingness, only to be so exhausted from the effort that only a few seconds of comfort had been given. He knew what it was to have the haze of being trapped in a medallion cloud your mind, to only rouse from the partial-awareness when someone was speaking in the Halls of the Dead, to feel like part of yourself was trapped in someone else and you wouldn’t be able to actually die until it was released.

To feel yourself constantly being pulled between life and death, unable to move in either direction of your own free will.

That was why he’d decided to go into hibernation. It had been a risk, he knew. Some Protectors never woke up, never came when they were called back. But otherwise he was sure he’d feel himself permanently stuck in that limbo, even when fully in life or death.

Even now, sometimes he felt like that.

Had Felix kept his emotions in touch with Cry, he would have realized what was happening a split-second before it happened. He wouldn’t have been able to  _ do _ anything about it, but he would have realized.

But he hadn’t. So he didn’t.

Cry’s warning came a fraction of a second too late, torn away in the horrific sound of lightning where there hadn’t been any before.

It was pure instinct on Felix’s part to step backwards in surprise at the flash and the sound, to try and recollect his bearings so he could help Cry properly.

It was pure fear that had him step a little too far and trip and fall backwards into the rushing river.

And it was the raw forces of nature that tore his breath away and stole the warmth from his body and sent him slamming into mountain boulders.

His armor, fortunately, protected him against the worst of the damage, but as soon as he tumbled into the lake, it was dragging him down.

He wouldn’t be able to get it off in time. It took time. And it was too heavy to try and swim with—Felix tried, but he just kept sinking.

It felt all too much like being pulled into his medallion after death.

The surface was so far away now, and Felix’s lungs were starting to burn, the brief gasps of air he’d managed to get no longer enough.

He wasn’t sure if the water was murky or his vision was starting to fade, but either way, it wasn’t a particularly good sign.

And then hands were grabbing him, and arms wrapping around him, and the water began sliding by the opposite way.

As soon as Felix could breathe, as soon as he realized that Cry had  _ dived in the icy cold lake to rescue him,  _ he realized that Cry’s grip was slipping on him.

Felix wasn’t sure who did more of the work getting the two of them to shore, but when Cry crumpled onto the pebbles, Felix struggled over to him.

He was breathing, which was good, but his clothes were just as soaked as Felix’s, which was bad, and he wasn’t responding to any of Felix’s pokes, which was even worse.

Felix shivered and hauled himself across Cry’s still form.

Pure exhaustion was radiating through their bond, and Felix wasn’t about to risk Cry freezing to death.

There was also pretty much no way he could get himself back to the horses, much less Cry, and much less back to Quintal. Not with Cry so thoroughly exhausted and Felix all battered from his fall and freezing himself.

Felix reached his magic to Quintal, to Ken.

Ken could help.

Felix shivered again as a particularly chilly wind howled down the mountainside.

Just, hopefully they’d both survive until he got here.

\-----

Felix gingerly limped to Cry’s room, grimacing at the pain filling his leg and hip, and carefully peeked in.

Cry was still on the bed, mask off and eyes closed. If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest and the faint hum coming through their bond, Felix would have thought the Lord of the Fifth Realm dead.

But no. Cry was simply exhausted in both energy and magic.

Felix limped into the room, closing the door behind him, and slowly made his way over to the bedside chair.

He should be resting himself, he knew, but he felt compelled to stay by Cry’s side.

Just in case.


	9. The Keeper of the Young

Snow blinked blearily, though it was more an action of exhaustion than out of an actual need to blink.

“Good evening,” Greenscale’s voice said calmly, tensely. “Are you ready?”

“I have no idea how we’re doing this,” Molly replied uncertainly, “but I trust you do.”

“I have a few plans.” A pause, and the familiar light footsteps of the Guardian.

“I’m so glad you two decided to ask me if I was ready,” Snow said blandly.

Greenscale sighed. “Are you ready, Snow?”

“No.” Snow shrugged one shoulder and then winced at the pain. Right. Still healing. “Let’s get this over with.”

Then the blankets were being stripped off of him, and he involuntarily shivered.

He was cold? How could he be cold? He hadn’t been cold since he was twelve and learned how to use his magic to create a barrier against the cold. It had become automatic over the years.

Right.

Not his body.

Could he even use his magic, trapped in Gar’s body? He hadn’t tried yet, and now he was regretting that. Of course, considering how weak he currently was, it would be a bad idea to do magic at all, unless he wanted to risk dying.

“Don’t worry,” Greenscale said in a familiar soothing tone. “I have a plan.” A pause as something thudded down on the bed next to Snow. “Well, technically, it was Grayscale’s plan, and Bluescale helped a lot, and that’s what took so long.”

“She tends to be fairly precise on timing things.” Snow frowned.

“Yes, well, this was a bit more complicated. We didn’t know if you’d still have your cold resistance, since this isn’t your body, and we didn’t want you to freeze. Neither of you.”

“I like not freezing,” Molly said simply. “Is that what these are for?”

“It is.”

Snow sighed, because _he couldn’t see what “these” were,_ then flinched when something heavy and cool dropped onto him. Said thing became apparent as a blanket when hands pulled it up and around him.

“Molly, you’ll have to keep track of yours and pull it around you once you’re settled. Snow, well, just don’t flail.”

“Don’t flail? Why would I-“

Arms slid under Snow’s back and he gasped, instinctively grabbing onto the closest thing for support.

Greenscale chuckled softly, though it felt more like a rumble with Snow clutching onto them. “I won’t let you fall.”

Snow just protested with a groan. Sudden movement had hurt.

“This way, Molly.”

And just like that, they were moving.

Greenscale moved smoothly, and steadily. It was clear they’d had plenty of experience carrying people in the past. Of course, considering they were the Keeper of the Young and was almost always around the trainee Protectors, and said trainees were often reckless and dared each other to do stupid things, that wasn’t necessarily surprising. Snow had seen Greenscale swoop up several badly injured teenagers in the past—though he wasn’t sure if they’d seen him, considering he’d been snooping and not usually interacting much.

No, usually only a few of each generation had bothered talking to him. Granted, he’d been a shade and seemingly made of solidified shadows and could phase through just about anything. Most were downright terrified of him.

Not that the rising generation would know that. Not even the eldest, the ones that would go to Lord Patrick’s eldest, Lady Faye’s daughter, and Lady Sevel’s son. They’d been young when Snow had died the second time. They wouldn’t remember him, except maybe from time to time in nightmares.

Well, no, he supposed that wasn’t quite true. Luna would be getting a Protector significantly older than she was—four and a half years older, in fact. On the plus side, that meant she wouldn’t need someone to finish off her training so much—whatever it was could wait until the summer meetings with the other Protectors.

“I don’t suppose you have an update on PJ,” Greenscale said a bit breathlessly, and then they were starting up stairs.

“Not a recent one. He’s alive, I know that much, but he’s having a rough go of it with his leg,” Molly said.

Snow lifted his head from Greenscale’s chest. “What happened to PJ?”

“Oh! That’s right, you don’t know.”

“I’ve been dead,” Snow pointed out blandly.

“Well, first of all, Lord Lester is dead. PJ survived because he’d started drifting to Lord Howell.”

Snow made a face. “You’ll have to remind me who they are. It’s been a long time since I bothered learning about the nobility.”

“Phil, or Lord Lester rather, was PJ’s noble. Daniel Howell was his husband, the Avalieran boy from that treaty.” Greenscale’s chest rumbled as they spoke.

“Ah, yes, I remember him.” Gar had wanted to know about the marriage treaty with Avalier but couldn’t get away from his duties as a member of the Fischbach’s Royal Guard. So Snow had gone to watch. “Did he end up happy?”

“They did, for a while. Phil got badly hurt during the war, and it finally caught up to him at the beginning of this year. PJ barely survived, but he’s now solidly bound to Dan.”

“Yes, I know that part. I helped him get back.”

Greenscale sighed. “Well, Dan decided to stay in the Realms rather than return to Avalier, which meant he ended up with orders to marry Lady Faye. That happened two and a half weeks ago, but right before, there was an assassination attempt on Dan. PJ did his job, but he ended up losing his leg.”

“Ouch.” PJ would do fine without a leg. Plenty of Protectors had been without one or more limbs in the past, after all.

“Indeed.” Greenscale paused their talking and twisted, sending Snow grabbing for them all over again.

Cold air drowned Snow’s face, and he gasped.

“Are you sure you don’t need to rest before heading back?” Jason asked. “I remember how hard flying is for you guys.”

“I’ll rest when I’m home,” Greenscale said. “Here, make sure he won’t get cold.”

Despite freezing and aching all over, Snow chuckled. “Wrap me like the dead person I am.”

“Oh, charming,” MatPat murmured. “I see where Jason got his sense of humor.”

Jason just laughed, and Snow was passed from one set of arms to another.

“Once he’s bundled and I’m changed back, use those and strap him to my underside. It’s where he’ll be the safest.”

“Okay,” MatPat said.

“You doing okay, Snow?” Jason asked, even as the heavy blanket settled tighter over Snow, binding his arms to his chest and his legs together. “Holding together? Haven’t torn anything back open?”

“I mean everything hurts, but all things expected, I think that’s fairly normal.” Snow winced as a strap or a rope or a belt or something went around his torso and arm and tightened directly against a broken bone.

“It’s four hours from here,” Greenscale pitched in. “We’ll arrive just before dawn.”

“That-” Snow chuckled breathlessly, despite almost not having the energy to do so, “I can’t see that.”

“You’ll feel the warmth,” Greenscale promised.

Snow just sighed, even as the blanket was pulled loosely over his face.

MatPat gasped.

Greenscale chuckled, accompanied by the sound Snow knew to be the rustling of scales shifting against scales—the more natural expression of amusement.

Ah. They must have changed back to their dragon form then. Easier to do magic in, but quite exhausting to change back and forth.

Snow had seen Greenscale’s dragon form before, as they were the one most likely to change back and forth—whether because they were frequently the one to deliver medallions or because they were the one who decided hunting big game to feed all the trainees was easier as a dragon or because they just liked seeing different parts of the Realms.

He couldn’t blame MatPat for gasping.

As a dragon, Greenscale was, by far, the largest and most fearsome-looking of the Guardians. They were largely green, thus their name, but the actual shade of that green was quite dark, like you’d expect from vines. And then there were their spikes and horns: that same green at the base, but gleaming a deep red at the tips. Kind of like some rose thorns.

“They still look like a bush?” He asked.

Greenscale’s scales rustled softly. “How kind.”

“Still looks like a bush,” Jason agreed.

“I, uh,” Molly started slowly, “how are we going to do this again?”

A pause. Then, “You can’t see it from your current perspective, your highness, but just behind my head is an area perfectly comfortable for sitting and riding. You will have to climb to reach it.”

“Are you okay with me climbing you?”

“It’s not a problem.”

“…okay?” Another pause. “I, uh, don’t know if I can maneuver super well, to get up there.”

“Lord Patrick? Will you assist her?”

“I, uh- yes, of course.” Footsteps as MatPat walked away.

The heavy fabric Jason was still fastening around him kept out the cold well enough, Snow supposed, seeing as he wasn’t at all cold anymore, but he missed the feeling of air on his face. He could breathe, which was great, but it was most definitely frustrating and a bit alarming to be all trapped like this.

“Jason?”

“Yes?” Jason’s voice came from close to his ear, and Snow flinched away.

Jason didn’t seem to take offense.

“What do the moons look like?”

“The… moons? I mean, they look like moons.” Jason sounded a bit confused.

“No, like… what phases are they in. How bright are they. Stuff like that.”

“I mean, sure, I’ll tell you, but… do you mind saying why?”

Snow shrugged. “It was something to pay attention to over a millennia.”

“Fair enough.” A pause. “I mean, it’s pretty bright out right now. The silver moon’s all new, but the gold one is full and as bright as always. The blue one…” A long pause. “It must be hiding behind one of the other moons, because I can’t see it.”

Snow sighed at the news, slumping into the warmth that had to be Jason. The blue moon was the hardest to see anyway, being the smallest and dullest. But after so long of not being able to see the moons—the entrance to the land of the dead didn’t really have a need, being stuck in more-or-less perpetual twilight—he’d really wanted to at least _hear_ about them, even if he couldn’t actually _see_ them.

And the blue moon was gone.

Just like Gar.

“Snow?” Jason sounded a bit alarmed. “You okay?”

“Tired, like always.” Snow resisted the temptation to sigh again. “Just like I have been for hundreds of years.”

“You’ll get there,” Jason said. “Probably, at least. Right now it’s because you’re healing, but who knows how things will go later.”

“I hope so,” Snow frowned. “I thought I’d be okay when I was dead, but that didn’t last long, so… we’ll see.”

“I’m sure getting Gar back will help you just as much as it’ll help Molly.” A pause, as Jason’s arms slid firmly under Snow’s back and knees and lifted him. “Okay, it’s time to get you all settled.”

“How fun.”

“It’ll be okay. Greenscale knows how to take care of people.”

“Yes, well, we’ll see.” Snow winced as he was lifted into place and tied in so he wouldn’t fall at all.

And then, with a powerful _whoosh,_ the world jolted, and the sound of Greenscale flying was all that could be heard.


	10. Shade

Was this how it had been for Snow?

The thought kept wandering through Gar’s mind.

Of course, that was probably at least in part due to the fact that he was currently trapped in his statue.

It hadn’t been too bad at first—not being able to move hadn’t been great, but the statue at least given him a semblance of a body. It had certainly been better than the brief period of time where he’d been stuck in his medallion alone, completely disembodied.

And Greenscale frequently came into the room to talk to him, keeping him updated on Molly. Apparently Jason was talking to them a lot, so they felt like they could pass it along. That was something. Definitely more than Pat or Felix had gotten. Absolutely more than Snow had gotten.

The temptation to pull himself out of his statue and take a bit as a shade was almost overwhelming sometimes, but… he would only have a few minutes of time like that before it’d exhaust him. He didn’t want that.

He hadn’t even had the strength to reach to Molly and assure her he was okay yet.

And the bond… the Protector bond was just so  _ muted _ that it was disconcerting. He’d only been dealing with a full one for a year and a half now, but… he’d gotten used to the constant assurance that Molly was okay, to being able to sense where she was and how she was feeling. And now, while he could tell that she was alive, and he could feel her emotions, it was like feeling them from underwater or something.

“It’s not very much fun, is it?”

Gar internally winced at the voice of the fifth and final Guardian. Most Protectors only knew  _ of _ them and never actually met them, since they generally kept to themselves in the Halls of the Dead.

“If you’d told me when I was just a few years old that the man responsible for the death of two of my parents would one day be a Protector and wearing one of my own scales, well…” A sigh. “I wouldn’t have been very happy. But at least the magic is making you pay for the things you did.”

Gar wished he could speak, to apologize once again.

“I know Bluescale’s forgiven you; I know she forgave you a long time ago for what happened to our parents and the magic. But… I didn’t even get to meet them. I hadn’t hatched yet.” A shaky breath. “I don’t know what else you could have done to protect the magic, but… I wonder sometimes.”

Gar hesitated for a long, long moment, then took the equivalent of a deep breath and stepped out of his statue.

Shadow and magic swirled together, weaving and spinning to create his shade form.

Gar looked at his hand, blinking in surprise at how much he looked like Snow like this—shades didn’t have too terribly much in distinguishing features, after all—before turning his attention to the being sitting curled up at the base of his statue.

He crouched next to the Guardian.

“I wonder too.”

The Guardian looked up, tears streaking their face. They went to speak several times, but never said anything.

“I wondered every day for centuries what I could have done differently; what would have happened if my sister’s plan had worked and we’d managed to defeat the Soulstealer.” Gar settled on the floor next to Blackscale. “Would that have been the end of the war with the Empire? Would the Realms still have fallen? Would I have gotten to see my daughter grow up, see the Queen she would have made?”

Gar closed his eyes, leaning against his statue. “Would I have gotten to learn her name?”

“We both lost our families,” Blackscale murmured. Then they sighed. “Well, I suppose if the magic is giving you a second chance, so can I.” They frowned a bit, wiping their hand against the statue and disturbing the faint silvery moisture that had started to accumulate. “I’ll clean this up. Don’t want to accidentally poison any of the kids.”

“I’m sure they appreciate it.”

Blackscale hesitated, looking at the floor. Their tunic moved just enough to reveal the bandages on their back, bloody at the spine. “You didn’t have to use your shade time on me.”

“It was the least I could do,” Gar said simply. “I don’t have to worry about getting hurt.”

Blackscale snorted, smiling faintly. “Yeah, sure, that’s why you’re here, dead.”

“Well, when you put it that way.”

Blackscale stood. “They should be arriving just about now. If you hurry, you might be able to see them land before your time runs out.” They took a deep breath. “I recommend it, actually. Things... things got complicated with Snow’s efforts to help you.”

“That sounds bad.” Gar stood himself. “Where will they be?”

“Main courtyard.”

“Thank you.” Gar went to go, then paused. “Thank you for visiting me.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Blackscale sighed. “I have to go back to the forges after this, so it was a nice break.”

Gar nodded and lifted a hand in farewell—though he was sure Blackscale would be back to visit again sooner or later—and darted out.

Moving as a shade was an awful lot like moving as someone with a body, fortunately. Sure, he most definitely glided at the end of every step, sending him moving about six times as far with each step than he expected, but it all somehow worked out.

Except for one little thing: the knowledge that he was dead, and that no living person could move this way.

Gar hung near the edge of one of the buildings, hanging in the deepest shadows of the night, and looked to the main courtyard.

The ground shook as Greenscale landed, and as Grayscale darted up to his mate, someone slowly started climbing off Greenscale’s back.

For the first time in weeks, Gar’s Protector binding started stirring on its own.

“Molly.” The word was breathed softly, so as not to attract her attention.

She looked exhausted, like she’d barely gotten any sleep, and cold--though that one wasn’t surprising, considering it was night at fall in the north.

Grayscale helped Molly down, even as Bluescale stepped out from somewhere unseen and walked up to her.

“Love, you should be resting,” Grayscale said simply.

“I’m here for Snow,” she replied.

Grayscale grunted, but dipped his head, stepping aside.

Gar stepped forward a bit, edging closer. Snow? What- What was going on with Snow? Blackscale had said it was complicated, but... Snow was  _ dead. _ He’d died twice for Gar already. 

So why was Bluescale here for him?

“You realize he’s nearby, right? Probably within earshot nearby?”

Gar blinked, then did a double-take.

That was  _ his _ voice. But he hadn’t talked.

_ What? _

“He’s allowed to do that,” Bluescale said as she pulled ropes aside.

Then an arm in a familiar uniform was dragged over her shoulder, and someone leaned on her as she started walking.

That was  _ his body. _

**_What?_ **

“Yes, well, something tells me you haven’t told him what happened.”

“You’re an adult, Snow. You tell him yourself.”

If Gar had a heart, it would have stopped.

_ Snow was in his body? _

what

“This way, Molly,” Bluescale called over her shoulder.

Molly paused and looked around, clearly trying to take it all in, but nodded.

And then her eyes flicked to Gar, like she knew exactly where he was.

But then they kept moving.

She hadn’t seen him, then. That was a bit of a relief. Also a bit not.

Grayscale just gently gestured for her to follow Bluescale and, uh, Snow, then turned back to Greenscale.

In an instant, Greenscale the dragon was gone, replaced by Greenscale the human-in-appearance, who instantly crumpled, only to be caught and gently scooped up by Grayscale.

“You should also be resting, love.” Grayscale started walking to the inside, clearly intending on carrying Greenscale the entire way.

The only response was a groan of some kind and Greenscale burrowing into Grayscale’s clothes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have plenty of food ready for you when you wake up.” Grayscale sighed. “You’ve got plenty of energy to replenish.”

“Stop talking and cuddle me,” Greenscale said sleepily.

“As you wish.”

Gar wanted to follow, wanted to tell Molly he was okay, wanted to ask what was going on and why his body was being... inhabited by Snow? possessed? but as he moved forward, all strength faded, and he crumpled.

Right. Limited time as a shade.

Gar took a deep breath—well, whatever the equivalent was when you didn’t actually need air—and let himself fade back into his medallion.

Molly was here. Surely she was planning on calling him back soon?

But how would it work out?


	11. Together Again

Gar took a deep breath, flinching at the pain that throbbed across him when he did so. And froze when he opened his eyes but saw nothing.

“Gar?” Molly asked hesitantly. “Did it work?”

Gar reached for the bandages across his eyes, touching them gently, but nodded. “I think so.” He frowned. “Am I back in my old body?”

_ “Looks like it.” _ Snow said, and a very distinct, very familiar presence of  _ something else _ shifted in Gar’s body with him.

“But- what’s going on?”

“Is Snow still with you?” That was Bluescale.

_ “Yep.” _

Gar nodded slowly. “But- why was he in my body in the first place?”

“He can talk to you about that.” A pause. “How are you feeling?”

Gar paused, quietly working through his body. Most alarming was his eyes, which he felt shouldn’t have bandages over them still and he should have been able to see light through anyways. The next source of major pain was his chest and abdomen, but those were mostly just constant dull aches. One of his arms was in a sling, but he could still wiggle his fingers just fine despite the cast, so that was fine.

“Like I got attacked by baby gryphons.”

Bluescale chuckled. “Fair. What about mentally?”

Mentally, with the shock of being alive again and the undeniable sensation of Snow inhabiting his body with him?

“I’ll get back to you on that one.”

“I suppose that’s alright.”

Gar slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, grimacing at how much that hurt.

_ “Careful,”  _ Snow warned.  _ “Your body is a complete mess.” _

“Thanks.”

“You might want to keep in mind that we can’t hear Snow,” Bluescale said, “so it sounds like you just thanked yourself.”

“That’s a good thing to know.”

Fabric rustled slightly, and Gar frowned. It had been faint enough he hadn’t been able to tell if it was from his right or his left—from Molly or Bluescale.

“Why is there a bandage over my eyes?”

_ “You’re blind,” _ Snow said at the same time Molly said, “MatPat’s healer didn’t want them off in case your eyes got infected.”

“I- I’m blind?” Of course he was, he’d gotten clawed in the eyes and they’d been  _ bleeding. _ He’d just been too worried about Molly to consider that was the most likely ending.

“Yeah.”

_ “Not completely.” _ Snow sounded hesitant.  _ “Without the bandages, you still get a little bit of light and general movement in your right eye. But, yeah, you’re effectively blind.” _

“I see.” Gar paused. “Well, not really.”

Snow chuckled softly.

“Where are we, exactly? Like, what building?” It hadn’t been too long since he left here to be bound to Molly—okay, a year and a half—so he should be able to at least remember some stuff.

“Your old rooms,” Bluescale said. “Though it has none of its old decorations.”

“Yes, well, I took those down when I left, so that doesn’t surprise me.”

A tiny yip sounded, and Gar froze. The puppy. How had he forgotten about the puppy?

_ “She likes licking.” _

Small feet scrabbled against wood, and then warm, soft fur burrowed its way under his hand.

“Hello,” he said cautiously.

A tiny tongue licked over his fingers, and Gar chuckled.

Warmth flooded his binding.

_ His binding with Molly. _

He could feel it.

“How long was I dead?”

“Three weeks,” Molly said softly, that warm feeling almost curling into a hug.

“Congratulations, you broke the record for Protector dead the shortest amount of time,” Bluescale said dryly. “Not that it was a particularly difficult record to set.”

“What was the record before me?”

“Three months.”

Gar shuddered. “I can’t imagine being stuck like that for three months.”

_ “Yes, well, at least you had your medallion.” _

Snow’s words were accompanied by a raw wave of bitterness and unbearable sadness, and it took all of Gar’s strength not to curl into a ball and scream. As it was, a sob still tore out of him, and the fabric over his eyes grew damp.

“Gar?” Concern rushed over Molly’s voice.

“I- hang on.” Gar buried his face in his free hand, only to have his fingers brush against the dozens of tiny scars tiny claws had made.

No matter, he’d gotten scars before.

_ “I...”  _ Snow hesitated.  _ “I didn’t realize we were still connected so much you could feel my emotions, even after all this time.” _

Gar wanted to reach to touch his old friend, to touch the one person who’d believed in him all this time, to tell him he’d always been able to feel Snow’s emotions, even when he didn’t have enough of his mind to remember what they were--but he couldn’t.

So instead, he ran his hand through his hair and rested on his knees.

“Molly?”

“...Yes?”

“Are you okay? I mean, the binding says you are, but... it’s not always precise.”

“I’m tired, is all. I miss Wade.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I-” Molly took a deep breath, and fabric shifted softly. She was probably placing a protective hand on her belly, as she’d started doing as they traveled. “For the good of the kingdom, right?” Her voice wavered slightly, like she was holding back tears herself, and the warm feeling faded into despair.

“...I’ve done a lot of things over the years that I told myself were for the good of the kingdom,” Gar murmured softly. Fighting in the war. Watching friends die. Breaking the magic. Staying away for hundreds and hundreds of years. “And they’ve worked out in the end. Doesn’t mean they didn’t cost a lot, though.”

“And what will this cost? Will I ever get to see Wade again? Will he end up dead somewhere, and me raising our child alone?”

“I’ll be here.”

He would be there for Molly’s children like he wasn’t for his own daughter.

_ “I was there for her, you know,”  _ Snow said slowly.  _ “Your daughter, I mean. I brought her here.” _

He would be there for Molly like Snow had always been there for him.

“I-” Molly’s voice caught again.

“It’s alright, Molly,” Bluescale said. “You won’t be alone. I’m here, and so are the rest of the Guardians.”

Gar pushed himself up and patted the bed next to him. “Come sit.”

“Wh- why?”

Gar just patted the heavy blanket again.

A long silence.

Then footsteps, and then weight settled next to Gar.

He wrapped his good arm around her and pulled her close. 

“It’s okay, Mollu. It’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of that. Somehow.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Gar just sighed. “Look, I know you’re sad. You’re away from home, and neither of us know when we’re getting back. You’re scared. This is a new place, and you don’t really know anyone here. I’m supposed to protect you, but I can’t even see, and I doubt I can even stand by myself right now.”

_ “You can’t,”  _ Snow supplied.

“Just because things are bad now doesn’t mean they’ll always be bad. Things will get better, eventually, little by little.”

Molly snorted, even as she buried her head in Gar’s shoulder, sending a little jolt of pain through his arm. “Says the guy with two souls in one body.”

_ “It’s not ideal.” _

“Hey, at least I’m back.”

They sat there for a moment, as some of the edge got taken off Molly’s emotions, before Bluescale cleared her throat.

“Speaking of the two-souls-in-one-body thing... Gar, we need to talk.”

_ “I sincerely hope you’re planning on including me in this conversation, because that’s just rude otherwise.” _

\-----

Molly was sleeping safely back in the room, on the other bed, and Gar painfully pulled himself away from Bluescale and lowered himself into a chair none-too-gracefully.

“What’s up?”

Bluescale sighed, and wood creaked. Had she sat forward?

“I’m speaking to both of you when I say this: your situation is incredibly dangerous for the both of you.”

_ “Sounds about average.” _

“Snow, please.”

Bluescale chuckled. “I can imagine what he said. He spent quite a lot of time here.”

_ “Had to leave my mark on the rising generation of Protectors. Sure, it was a mark of screaming and nightmares, but what’re you going to do when you’re a shade.” _

“Have you no pity for the children.”

_ “Nope.” _

Gar grunted.

Bluescale sighed. “So, uh, this is part of the problem. Not looking like you’re talking to someone who’s not actually there, that’s much less of an issue than people make it out to be. Only one of you can control Gar’s body at once.”

_ “He can have it,”  _ Snow said blandly,  _ “I’m used to not having a super physical form.” _

And that was Gar’s fault.

“And... well, bodies just aren’t made to hold more than one soul at once. The longer both of you are there, the more strain it’ll have on you. It could quite possibly do a lot of permanent damage.”

“Mark’s handling it.”

“Mark is being supported by the magic of the Land of the Squirrels, but even then, there’s only so long he’ll last before the strain kills him.”

“I’ve been under a lot of strain with this body before,” Gar said quietly. “It’s still my original body, after all.”

“This is fair.” A pause, then Bluescale sighed. “Just... be careful. It’s not just physical strain.”

Something about the way she said that chilled Gar. Or maybe that was Snow working ice magic. Who knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've been waiting for Gar to come back to being alive for months now, and here he is! I just don't think he was expecting to have Snow hanging out in his body still, though.
> 
> And, well, I can't say it'll be awful for them, but I can't say it'll be good for them either.


	12. Winterfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. I got hit by a car yesterday and spaced on putting this up.

The fire in the fireplace crackled softly, even as the air was filled with the sounds of pages flipping and the smells of delicious hot drinks.

PJ stretched carefully so as not to accidentally disconnect his prosthetic.

It still took quite a bit of getting used to, but it was better than trying to completely hover. Not that it was at all comfortable or nearly as responsive as his natural leg. Hopefully that would change with time.

Finally, the door to Dan's bedroom opened (he and Amanda had opted for different rooms connected to the same solar) and he stepped a bit into the room, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose tightly.

For a second, before Dan put his blocks back up, PJ felt the raw agony Dan was experiencing through their binding, but then it was gone. 

It had been the summer meetings the last time Dan had had a headache this bad.

Said headaches were a result of Dan surviving the Lifeless. The dead demon general had first made contact on Dan's head, and had done most of the damage there, so it wasn't terribly surprising that there were long-term results besides memory loss.

“Peej- can you come here? We need to talk.”

PJ set his book and tea aside and stood before limping over to Dan.

A moment later Dan was back on his bed, eyes screwed shut with agony, and PJ uncomfortably in the bedside chair.

“How bad is it?”

“Nothing I haven't dealt with before.”

“Yes, well, you’ve almost died before, so that isn’t helpful.”

A pained grin flashed across Dan’s face. “It’s bad, but I’ll be okay.”

“Dan.”

“Look, that’s not the point of this conversation.” Dan pulled a pillow over his face, and very suddenly their binding was rolling with unease. “Amanda and I have to have a  _ very _ long discussion that we don’t want Luna overhearing. I hate to saddle you with babysitting, but can you keep her away from the rooms for the day?”

PJ narrowed his eyes at Dan. “Do we need to have a conversation to prep you for this discussion?”

“We had it well over a decade ago, back when I was still scared of Phil.” Dan groaned. “Doesn’t mean it’ll be any less awkward now.”

“Seriously, do we need to talk about this?”

Dan sighed. “It’s just... nobody expected Phil and I to birth an Heir. They didn’t even care that we slept in different rooms. But now... if it gets out that Amanda and I are in different rooms, I don’t know what will happen. A good chunk of people here already don’t like me. And gods forbid they learn how reluctant we are to sleep together.”

PJ  _ hmm- _ ed. “Well, this is the second marriage for both of you. I feel like some people would be sympathetic towards that.”

“I’ve had several very rude people point me in the direction of the nearest altar to our favorite god of marriage,” Dan sighed, “so I’m not optimistic.”

“Clearly not them.” PJ leaned back in his chair. “Though I will take this opportunity to point out that Wade and Molly will have been on the throne six and a half years by the time their kid is born. They don’t get to talk about taking your time with something like this.”

Dan made a vague “eh” gesture.

While Dan didn’t say anything more, their binding was filled with weariness—once again a reminder that Dan didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want any of this. He was just doing his duty.

PJ leaned forward and gave Dan’s arm a comforting pat.

“Anyway, I’d much appreciate it if you took Luna for the day. Amanda would have asked you, but she’s off actually doing work.” Dan made a face. “I doubt anyone told her she’d be marrying someone as useless as me.”

“Dan.”

Dan sighed and opened his eyes, grimacing. “Don’t even start that right now.”

“Dan.”

Dan narrowed his eyes at PJ. “No. I am not in the mood to be motivated.”

“Dan...” PJ sighed, knowing it was useless when Dan was like this. “Of course I’ll take Luna. But... you realize, sooner or later, you need to bond with her. You are her step-father.”

“Yes, but not the day her mother and I are going to have very in-depth discussions about going about making children.” Dan paused, then scrunched his eyes closed. “I don’t think I’d make a good father.”

“You’ll be fine. You don’t even have to worry about it yet, though.” PJ stood. “I think I’ll have Luna show me around the city.”

“Be careful.” Dan frowned. “You haven’t been outside the fortress since we got here. Someone might still be carrying a grudge.”

“Don’t worry. If worst comes to worst, Luna and I will use the time-tested tradition of running away.”

\-----

Luna looked over from readying herself to climb into her saddle, then frowned.

“PJ? You okay?”

PJ glanced over, breaking from his thoughts. “Oh? Yeah, I just-” He sighed. “I didn’t think about how I’m supposed to ride with a prosthetic leg.”

A pause, then Luna walked over. “Well...” She hesitated. “How did Lord Lester do it?”

“He didn’t. Travel in general was incredibly hard on him, and he already didn’t like horses, so he just didn’t.”

“He didn’t like horses?”

PJ shook his head, patting the neck of his own horse and getting a soft mane toss in return. “No.”

“Did he ever say why?”

“Mmm, something about not being able to trust them.”

“That’s... I mean, that’s fair, but it’s also kind of ridiculous.”

“Exactly.” PJ took a deep breath and shuffled to how he’d normally stand to mount his horse. Except he couldn’t do any kind of jumping or hopping with his prosthetic, at least not yet.

“...what was Lord Lester like?”

PJ glanced over at Luna to see her playing with the hem of her cloak.

“Kind. Tried hard, though Dan was always much better at their job. Wanted what was best for the Third Realm and the kingdom. I mean, that’s why he volunteered himself for the treaty with Avalier—they needed someone for a marriage.”

“Did he give up anyone for that?”

PJ chuckled. “No.”

“And that’s when Lord Howell came over, right?”

“Mmhmm.” PJ nodded. Then he stopped and really looked at Luna. “How old are you, again?”

“I turned 12 over the summer.”

“Right.” PJ sighed. “Dan wasn’t too much older than you when Avalier gave him away. He was seventeen—certainly a lot younger than anyone was expecting.”

“He was seventeen? That’s way older than I am.”

“Luna,” PJ chuckled, “I’m almost 41. Anything under 20 is ‘not too much older than you’ by default.”

“That just makes you old.”

“Well,” PJ finally started trying ways to mount his horse, “I suppose I am.”

It took several minutes of actively trying, but PJ did finally figure out a way to get up on his horse.

Okay. One hurdle down.

The ride through Quartal was slow, as PJ kept having to figure out how to handle riding gently, and Luna didn’t seem particularly interested in moving quickly.

Then, quite suddenly, “PJ?”

“Yes, Luna?” PJ pulled up the hood of his cloak as snowflakes started drifting from the overcast sky.

“I overheard Mom and Lord Howell talking earlier. They said something about ‘the Heir’. Is the kingdom going to get an Heir?”

“What- what makes you ask that? They’re already discussing children, since duty requires it.”

“Well, Molly disappeared, and Wade isn’t saying anything or going looking for her, which implies he knows where she is. Lord Howell mentioned the thing about Lord Patrick and Hextal. The only reason I can think of the King and Queen being separated for a non-diplomatic reason is that he’s trying to protect her and their kid by having them sent away.”

“Well, you’re right, but don’t tell anyone I told you that.”

Luna grinned. “I knew it.” She paused, grin fading. “Do you know when?”

“Mid-winter, supposedly.”

“Good. I take it she’s safe, then?”

“I haven’t asked recently, but I’ll certainly do that and get back to you.”

“Deal.”

At that point, the topic moved to much less serious things that Luna still took very seriously and PJ didn’t at all, and by the time they returned to the fortress, not only did PJ have a decent feel for the city, he had a new appreciation for Luna’s intelligence.


	13. Born into Duty

Pat knew without anyone telling him the reason why Wade was so agitated all day. Between Wade waking up so suddenly with such panic that it woke Pat and sent him scrambling to Wade’s rooms to make sure he was alright and Wade’s repeatedly touching his wedding ring, something was up with Molly. And, well, since it was mid-winter and she was safe with the Guardians, there were a limited number of things that could be.

“I was supposed to be there with her,” Wade murmured, his distress nearly crackling in the air. “I was supposed to be there with them.”

“Gar is with her, and so are the Guardians,” Pat said reassuringly, “and any of them will let us know how things go down.”

“That’s not the same.” Wade buried his face in his hands. “I’m supposed to be there for her, for our child.”

Pat hesitated, then sighed. “That... might not be entirely accurate, by the way.”

Wade looked up, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The singular part of ‘child’, I mean.”

Wade blinked. “Patrck...?”

Pat sighed again. “Before the gryphons... Gar and I talked, and he admitted that he could sense the baby—or, well, babies.”

Wade stared blankly at Pat.

“And... he said he couldn’t be sure about it, but he was pretty sure there were two.”

“...and how long have you known about this?”

“Uh... about three months.”

“And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m a bad Protector.” Pat hesitated at Wade’s distress. “Gar said he wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to tell you and have him be wrong.”

Wade just groaned and buried his face in his hands again.

\-----

The room was quiet, at least compared to what it had been earlier. Molly was still breathing heavily, though her breaths grew calmer and steadier as time went on. Fabric was still rustling, and water was splashing gently. On the other hand, at least nobody was screaming.

_ “Do you think it’s safe to look,”  _ Snow said curiously.

Gar sighed.  _ “Still blind.” _ He’d discovered, by complete accident, that he could actually talk to Snow directly by directing thoughts inward. It had resulted in several discussions about Gar thinking too deeply to himself, but it more or less worked.

“You can actually come into the room, you know,” Greenscale said simply. “Probably before the door swings shut on you.”

Gar ducked his head and ducked into the room, painfully aware of his hair flopping in front of the blindfold he’d taken to wearing. He needed to cut his hair, at least a little. It was getting unmanageable.

_ “I mean, that’s what I said a thousand years ago.”  _ Snow mused.  _ “Never did get that haircut.” _

_ “You looked better with long hair than I ever could. Also, I don’t want baby hands grabbing it.” _

_ “Sure. Be that way.” _

The door swung into Gar’s heel, and he stumbled forward into the room.

“Can I get up?” Molly asked from Gar’s right.

“As soon as you feel like it,” Greenscale replied.

“Great.” Molly grunted. “Gar, get over here and help me stand. I want to get washed off.”

“Okay.” Gar paused, orienting himself before carefully moving towards Molly. He ended up bumping something hard and probably wooden before Molly’s hand grabbed his arm and she hauled herself into standing.

“Careful,” Gar said as she grabbed onto him even more.

“You’d be the first to know if something went wrong,” Greenscale said calmly.

“Turn around,” Molly ordered, and Gar complied. “Now walk straight ahead.”

Once Molly was safely settled and cleaning herself, Gar wandered back into the room. Greenscale didn’t say anything as he found his way into a chair and just sat.

“You doing okay?” Greenscale asked.

“I just-” Gar took a sharp breath. “She was feeling so many things, and I didn’t know what to do, and it was all I could do to keep my own worries from leaking over to her.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I...” Gar sighed, shoulders slumping. “I wasn’t there for my own daughter’s birth. But I was here today. I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“Well,” Greensacle paused, and Snow shifted uneasily, “I can’t help you much with that. But do you want to hold one of them?”

Gar lifted his head from his hands. “What? Shouldn’t Molly hold them first?”

“She has.”

“I-” Gar clamped his mouth shut. He hadn’t gotten to hold his daughter, why should he-

_ “Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” _ Snow actually sounded irritated.  _ “You made the best choice you could. You saved Ryl’s life that night. That’s what matters.” _

_ “...Ryl?” _

Snow sighed.  _ “Ryl... Her full name was Amaryllis, but I took to calling her Ryl.” _

“I-”

Greenscale made some soft, comforting sound. “It’s alright. Sit up straight.”

Gar obeyed.

A tiny bundle was slipped into his arms, and Greenscale took a moment to make sure Gar was holding said bundle correctly. “There,” Greenscale said, “now you’re holding the future Queen of the Realms.”

“Has- has Molly named them yet?”

“No. She wanted Wade’s help.”

“I’ll help her with the pools later, then.”

Greenscale made a pleased hum.

Gar paused as something Greenscale had said earlier set in. “The future Queen?”

“Mmhmm. I can already tell you both of them have royalty magic, and since she was older, she’s the Crown Princess.”

“They were literally just born and you checked for their magic.”

“It’s not exactly a conscious decision,” Greenscale laughed softly. “I’m a dragon, it’s what I do.”

Gar sighed, but cradled the princess even closer. “And the other?”

“He’s sleeping right now, but you can hold him if you want. They both seem to be healthy, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It’s certainly a comfort.”

They stayed in silence for a minute, Snow making incomprehensible noises that were either grumbles about a baby or attempts to play with the baby, Gar wasn’t quite sure which.

Finally, Gar sighed. “Greenscale?”

“Hm?”

“Did you ever meet my daughter?”

“...no, actually. I didn’t. I came to the Realms a full hundred years after the magic was broken. Grayscale did, though. I think Snow was out looking for someone suitable for her... son? to marry when he arrived.”

_ “I did a lot of matchmaking back then. It was ridiculous.” _

“Do you know what she was like?”

“I know what her grandchildren were like.”

_ “She was kind.”  _ Snow said softly.  _ “She was very serious. She knew her duty, and she did it. She liked dogs and asking about you. She never gave up hope on you, even though she’d never said a word to you.” _

Was he crying?

The blindfold got heavy and wet and warm, and Gar held back a sniffle. He didn’t want to cry on the baby.

“Oh, Gar.” Arms wrapped around Gar, and Greenscale pulled him into a hug. “You did the best you could.”

“It wasn’t good enough.”

Irritation spiked through him from his binding with Snow, but also pity.

_ “You’ll come to know her the longer you’re here,”  _ Snow murmured.  _ “It’ll take a while, but we’re likely to be here for a while, so...” _

“The only one who can have you come to terms with that is you, I’m afraid,” Greenscale murmured, pulling away and resting their hands on Gar’s shoulders. “It’s tough, I understand that—I’ve had similar circumstances, in a way. But...” They sighed. “You can’t stay so much in the past any more. You’ve a new duty, and a new life. You have to reconcile the two.”

“I know, I know. I just...”

_ “Nobody said it would be easy.” _

Gar sighed and bowed his head and lifted the princess slightly until he could feel her soft breathing on his face.

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all we could ever ask from you.”


	14. Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to give two chapters a week a try, at least for a little while, to see if I feel I can keep up with it or not. So, while I'm not updating the update schedule officially, you can expect two chapters a week for a little while.

“Do you want to go?” Cry asked, locking his blade with Felix’s and leaning into it.

Felix shrugged, stepping aside to let Cry’s weight pull him forward. “I mean, it would be interesting, and it’s been a bit since we’ve been on a trip.”

“It’s right before the summer meetings, though. We’d have to leave from there. I’m not sure I’m comfortable being gone a whole five months.” Cry pulled back just in time, though he was still a bit off balance.

“And that is up to you.” Felix shoved Cry in the shoulder, sending him sprawling. “I’m just here to help.”

Cry spread out on his back and stared at the sky before sighing. “You know you’re so much more than that, right?”

“I would have thought I’ve done enough stupid things to change that.”

“Oh, you’ve done plenty of stupid things since you got back, but... you’ve managed them decently well, I guess.” Cry shrugged and sat up. “We can’t keep avoiding talking about the war, you know. My sons are going to ask about it sooner or later.”

Felix stiffened. “Yes, well, I wasn’t there for it. I didn’t do my job as your Protector  _ twice _ and you’re still dealing with the consequences.”

“So are you, Felix.”

Felix shoved his sword back in its sheath, not bothering to answer.

“I’ve felt your nightmares, Felix.” Cry sounded almost haunted by what he must have felt over their binding at night. “Don’t let things keep going like this. It’ll just hurt us both.”

“You want to talk about it?” Felix shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about. I failed.”

“Felix-”

“I’m done training for the day.”

With that, Felix turned and stormed back inside.

\-----

“We’re not going,” JP said, groaning as he settled himself into a chair.

Amile walked over to him and pulled Cat from his arms. “I know.”

“Did you want to?”

“Why would I want to go?” Amile shrugged, setting Cat down on the ground.

“You’ve never been to one.”

“Neither have you.”

“Yeah, well,” JP chuckled humorlessly, “there’s no way I’m fighting in a tournament with this hip.”

“And it’s noisy and in a new place and full of unknown people and it’s bound to smell bad and be awful in general.” Amile shook her head. “Which means neither of us wants to go, so why should we?”

“Fair.” JP rubbed at his hip. “I don’t suppose you’re still planning on going out with Joshua tonight?”

“I am, but I can cancel. He knows this comes first.”

JP grimaced. “You’re getting along with him really well, right? That’s not fair to him.”

Amile shrugged. “We’ve been going out for half a year now.”

“Amile! No- you’re going tonight. And then you and I are having a very long talk about priorities.” JP scowled at her. “He’s just as important by this point.”

“I won’t die if he does.”

JP squinted at her.

Cat babbled something as she reached for JP.

“Not right now, baby girl,” JP said to her. “It hurts too much to hold you right now.”

“Besides, it’s your bedtime,” Amile said.

JP frowned. “It’s not her bedtime for another hour, Amile.”

“I wasn’t talking to her.” Amile put her hands on her hips and frowned at JP. “You’ve been up for almost 20 hours straight.”

“I gotta be a Lord, do Lord things.”

“Yes, well, right now, you’re going to bed. I’ll watch Cat until it’s her bedtime, then I’ll go out with Joshua.”

JP just sighed.

\-----

“We should go,” MatPat said.

“No,” Jason said.

MatPat gave Jason an even look. “You just don’t want to go to a tournament.”

“I’d rather not set off my magic if you’re not in danger.” Jason raised an eyebrow.

MatPat sighed. “Fine, fine, that’s a fair point. I just...”

“If you really want to try and bash someone’s face in in the name of sports and entertainment we can head to the training yard.”

MatPat squinted at Jason. “I’m not you.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

MatPat just shook his head. “We should go,” he repeated.

“It’s almost two months there, Mat. We’d have to leave  _ tomorrow _ to get there in time, and then we’d have to spend the entire summer in the meetings. Do you really want to be gone from Steph for six or seven months?”

“No.” MatPat crossed his arms.

“Good.” Jason crossed his own arms. “You’re insufferable after three months. I can’t imagine how you’d be for a whole half year.”

Well, he knew how MatPat got after half a year away from Steph and their kids. They’d been separated for more than a year during the war.

There had been many times where Jason had just held MatPat at night and let him cry.

“Yeah, let’s not do that again.”

\-----

“I’m glad he’s settling in alright,” Pat said, folding the invitation into a paper glider. “He does know we can’t leave Primus right now, though, right?”

“I think he sent it more as a token than anything,” Wade replied, staring at the ceiling with that all-too-familiar distant look in his eyes.

“Wade... They’ll talk to us tomorrow again. Gar’s got to rest after using the pools.”

“I know, I know, I just...” Wade sighed, closing his eyes. “I want to talk to her more than every other day. I want to see her, too, but Gar hasn’t let that happen. Like what Amile did when we were with Cry and she was with JP.”

“...That’s not going to happen, bud.”

“Well why not?”

“It’s dependent on the Protector being able to see. Gar... he can’t do that.”

Wade groaned.

“I want to  _ see _ my children, though.”

“I know. You will, one day.”

“But I want to see them  _ now.” _

Pat sighed.

\-----

“But I thought you used to participate in tournaments all the time?” Amanda asked.

Dan sighed, a shadow crossing his face as he slumped into his chair. “I did. When Phil was alive.”

Amanda fell silent, then looked over at PJ.

PJ sighed and limped over to Dan, leaning on the back of his chair. “Dan... we both know I’m in no condition to be participating, at least not for a while yet. You don’t have to actually participate, but... I know nobody else will be going. The least we can do is visit.”

“I need to give him my old spell stuff,” Amanda added, “and it’ll be better if it happens before the summer meetings.”

“Spell stuff?” Dan looked up.

Amanda shrugged. “Jordan and I—all Adroy magic users, actually—have to use items and assemble things to work magic. It’s kingdom specific, like you needing music.”

“Fair, but... why doesn’t he have the stuff?”

“He was supposed to, but, then again, Iplier wasn’t supposed to be destroyed by a dragon.”

Dan sighed. “Fine. I’ll take these things to him. But I’m not participating in the tournament, alright?”

“That’s fine.” Amanda nodded, then stood. “I’ll go pack the things. You let him know you’re coming.”


	15. Sensation

Clanging of weapon against weapon. The shuffle of feet on the ground, kicking up dust and scraping against gravel. Quiet murmurs of encouragement and evaluation. Huffs of breathing in the early morning air.

Gar took a deep breath and turned his attention away from the nearby training going on.

The pools rippled and gently splashed--someone was using them. Since it wasn't him, it was probably little Olivia Parker, one of the two young Royal Protectors.

Scales rattled from above, like Redscale was shifting in his sleep on top of the Halls. He was spending more and more time asleep these days, with only a few hours awake each day, if he woke up at all.

_ “He's old,” _ Snow said.  _ “He’s older than most dragons end up being. He won't last much longer now.” _

Gar sighed.  _ “He's been separated from his mates far too long. It couldn't have been easy.” _

_ “No. Especially not while he was trying to raise a full clutch by himself.” _

Gar signed again. That was his fault.

Snow said nothing more, though, so Gar continued his sensory journey.

The sun was warm on what of his skin was exposed, and the air cool and dry. Something seemed oddly crisp, though, like a distant thing adding pressure to his ears.

_ “There's a storm coming,” _ Snow confirmed.  _ “A big one. It'll be a wet spring, for the entire kingdom.” _

Fun.

Footsteps nearby, dragging like their owner was tired, almost even exhausted.

“Good morning, Gar.”

Gar raised his head slightly at Bluescale's words. “Morning.”

_ “It's been quite a long time since I've seen her like this,” _ Snow said softly.  _ “And last time... Well, well, well.” _

_ “What?” _

But Snow didn't answer.

“Bluescale... Snow seems to think something's going on, but he won't tell me what.”

“Oh?”

There it was again, that weariness, that borderline exhaustion.

“Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

“Oh.” Bluescale chuckled softly. “So he's noticed that. Don't worry, Gar. Nothing unusual is happening for what's going on.”

_ “I  _ **_knew_ ** _ it.” _ Snow sounded extremely pleased with himself.

“Now, did you want to practice what we discussed earlier?”

_ “Please.” _

Gar took a deep breath and nodded. “I think we're ready to try.”

“I mean, for the first part you're mostly just going to be sitting there. Snow, whenever you're ready, then.”

For the first time in weeks, Snow started shifting inside Gar again: rolling and pulling against something outside the physical realm, straining against Gar's body, stretching and struggling.

And then Snow wasn't inside Gar anymore.

Well, that wasn't quite true. Gar could feel him stronger than ever, and his Protector was still partially stuck inside Gar's body.

‘it worked’ Snow breathed, sounding like he had for hundreds of years.

“Okay, Gar, your turn.”

Gar took a deep breath and reached an invisible hand across his and Snow's binding, then slowly and clumsily felt his way to Snow's eyes.

'careful,’ Snow murmured. 'i can't give you energy anymore’

Gar was gasping from the exertion this required, he knew, but he had to see if it was possible.

And, very suddenly, his awareness snapped not to his own senses, but Snow's.

The world's colors were dulled and warped, but he could see. Through Snow's eyes, he could see!

And then a flare of panic from both Molly and Snow, and the world went dark again.

\-----

“He'll be fine,” Bluescale said, putting a comforting hand on Molly's shoulder. “He just pushed himself too far. They both did.”

Molly looked at Gar's still form once more. Grayscale had moved him from where he'd collapsed to his room, and if it weren't for the gentle rise and fall of the blankets covering Gar, and the dull exhaustion pulling at her from their bond, she would have thought him dead.

She sighed.

“I wish he wouldn't.”

“I doubt this will be the last time this happens, unfortunately. Both of them are existing on Gar's energy, and they're too closely entwined to realize what the other is doing with magic and it's draining.”

Molly frowned, fiddling with the fabric that was holding her sleeping children to her front and back.

“How long will they have to deal with that?”

Bluescale shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe the rest of Gar's life.” She hesitated, then continued. “But if they don't learn how to solve this problem, I don't think Gar will survive to see your children receive their own Protectors in sixteen years.”

Molly's insides tightened at that.

“We'll just have to help them figure it out then.”

Bluescale just gave her a pat on the back.

\-----

As Gar woke, there was absolutely no questioning the feeling aching through his body: he had absolutely, with no question whatsoever, completely overextended himself.

_ “You’ve been asleep for nearly two days, Gar.” _ Snow said.  _ “You’re gonna feel like death warmed over for a while.”  _ A pause.  _ “Actually, death warmed over doesn’t feel like anything. I would know.” _

Despite himself, Gar snorted.  _ “I did actually try my hand at becoming a shade, when you and Molly arrived here.” _

_ “Oh? How was it?” _

_ “Disconcerting.” _

Snow chuckled.  _ “After a few hundred years you forget what it’s like to have a body.” _

Guilt wriggled up inside Gar. If he hadn’t tried to save Snow, then he wouldn’t have had to deal with it.

_ “And Ryl would have died,”  _ Snow reminded gently.  _ “It worked out for the best.” _

_ “I failed so many times that night, Snow.” _

_ “Yes, but you didn’t let that stop you from trying to fix them.” _ Snow sighed.  _ “You’re a little lost, aren’t you.” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

Snow seemed to shrug.  _ “I mean, you’re Molly’s Protector now, but you aren’t as driven as you used to be.” _

_ “I fixed the problems I caused.” _

_ “Yes, well, it’s time for you to start living.” _ Snow’s tone left no room for argument.  _ “I came to terms with my life a long time ago and made the best of it. I don’t really  _ have _ much in the way of regrets, and I’m glad for that. You’ve had even less of a chance for a normal life than I have, and since I was a shade for a thousand years, that’s saying something.” _

Gar snorted.  _ “What’s normal.” _

_ “I mean, you could find someone to date and marry _ — _ for love, not for duty. You have a dog. You could learn to weave. There are lots of options, Gar.” _

Gar pursed his lips, running a hand through his hair.  _ “I don’t even know what I want to do with my life, it’s been so long since I’ve gotten to think about that.” _

_ “Then do that. This isn’t going to last forever, and this place honestly isn’t so bad once you get used to it. And we both know you’re not going to just sit here and let the rogue dragon keep going.” _

_ “I can’t stop it, though.” _

Snow sighed.  _ “I was worried about that.” _ He paused, and then something touched something deep inside Gar’s mind, very gently.  _ “The memories are buried. Loose, though. I can see them.” _

_ “I don’t know if I want to remember the things I’ve done, Snow.” _

_ “I know.” _ Snow’s voice was gentle.  _ “But it’s important.” _

Gar hesitated, then sighed.  _ “If you must.” _

_ “I’ll be gentle.” _ The pressure increased slightly.  _ “In the meantime, do you want to reach out to Molly? You’re so hungry it’s distracting.” _

_ “Yeah, yeah, why do you get to feel that.” _

_ “Your guess is as good as mine.” _

\-----

The ground under Gar’s boots was rough, gravel and loose rocks sliding slightly as he shifted position. The air hung with the smells of sweat and dust and blood. Distant huffs and pants reached Gar’s ear in the brief moment before the clang of weapon on weapon began again.

“Well,” Grayscale said, “that’s good.”

Gar tilted his head in inquiry, but said nothing.

“You don’t rely on sight to balance yourself properly.” Hands brushed against Gar’s tunic sleeve, then his hands—which Molly had wrapped so he didn’t hurt them—and then pressed on the staff he was holding in a resting position. “I was a bit concerned we were going to have to stop to help you learn how to do that.”

“Have you trained blind people before?”

“Oh, yes.” Grayscale hummed slightly. “The magic doesn’t care if you’re blind or deaf or any sort of things not counted towards the norm of human ability.” He put one of his hands over the one Gar had on the staff. “It’s not too different from teaching anyone else how to fight; at least, every Protector has their own struggles we have to work through. This is just yours.”

Gar nodded.

“Do you want to keep your blindfold on for this?” The gravel crunched as Grayscale moved to Gar’s left.

“I’m not really comfortable having it off.”

“Very well.” 

The gravel crunched, much the same way as when Gar crouched. The softest  _ whrrsh _ came from Gar’s left, and he stepped back.

He still got gently bopped by the staff Grayscale was using.

“Are you ready?”

Gar grabbed his staff with both hands and shifted into a more ready position. “Let’s get started.”

He promptly got whacked in the hand.

Snow chuckled.  _ “Oh, this is going to be fun.” _

\-----

Gar was aching and undoubtedly bruising on large swaths of his arms and legs by the time Grayscale sent him to wash off (trying to navigate the baths by himself, how fun), but the heat of water was immensely relaxing.

_ “Don’t bother drying off,”  _ Snow said.  _ “It’s about to start raining again.” _

Gar groaned. He couldn’t even enjoy watching water stream down surfaces anymore. He just got pelted by cold and wet until he was shivering and soaking.

_ “Oh, shush. It won’t kill you. Probably.”  _ Snow shifted again.  _ “And make sure you work out all your muscle kinks. Something tells me you haven’t gotten any better about that since I died.” _

Gar snorted again, but moved to start stretching in the warm water. “You know me too well.”

It was comforting, almost.


	16. Old Warriors

“We’re going to have to stop for the night here, aren’t we,” Dan asked dully, staring out at the area in front of them. His eyes easily picked out the broken spears and swords sticking out of the ground, and bits of armor peeking through the tall grass.

“Not if we ride all night,” PJ replied, giving his horse a reassuring pat on the neck. Dan was so tense it was making PJ upset.

“We both know we’re not going to be able to do that.” Dan sighed, and urged his horse forward. “Might as well get it over with, I guess.”

As they stepped on to the old battlefield, the bits of spears and swords and broken equipment led the eye to the other things these kinds of battlefields held.

There were several in the Third Realm, but they’d always made sure to avoid them.

Battlefields where too many had died to bury them properly, especially in the middle of the war when they’d had to run or face even higher losses.

And now, seven years later, most of the bodies had been covered by plants, but the lumps and the occasional white sticking from the ground served as a reminder of the awful thing the Realms were still recovering from.

Dan kept his eyes straight ahead, but that didn’t keep him from remembering the seemingly endless battles he’d fought over those three years.

Fighting alongside Phil to try and keep the people safe.

Phil getting hurt.

Phil hovering between life and death for so long after that, even the healers saying he should be dead, but slowly recovering under Dan’s care.

Watching Suzerain soldiers try to get their hands on youth and ordering PJ to give them such vivid hallucinations he still heard their screams in his nightmares.

Soldiers trying to surrender and then trying to kill Dan when he went to talk to them.

He hadn’t taken surrenders after a dozen times of that. And when they stopped taking prisoners of his people, he stopped taking prisoners of theirs.

“Dan?”

PJ’s voice snapped Dan out of the dark memories, and he looked over to frown. PJ looked completely exhausted, and his hand was resting where his leg met his prosthetic.

“You should have said something, Peej. We could have stopped.”

“I was hoping we’d be able to avoid it.”

“So was I, but we both have to function.” Dan sighed, looking around. “There’s a flat area. It’s better than the rest of here, at least.”

PJ nodded, and the two of them rode their horses to the non-lumpy area.

Dan forced PJ to rest while he put up the tent (or at least while he tried to put up the tent, since the thing never got any easier to pitch), then left him to start clearing an area for a fire while he looked for something to burn. If they had to have a cold meal again, they would, but there had to be  _ something _ that’d make a decent fire.

His next step brought a sickening  _ crunch _ and sent Dan pitching forward as bone scraped all the way around his ankle.

Dan laid there for a moment, contemplating why he’d decided venturing through one of  _ these  _ battlefields was a good idea, before he slowly lifted his head—only to see a picked-clean skull in front of him.

Dan sighed and let his head drop again before glancing at what had trapped his foot.

A rib cage.

Lovely.

By now, there was undeniable pain coming from the inside of his mouth, and warm trickling down his lip, and he propped himself up on an elbow so he could wipe at it with the back of his hand.

Blood.

Great.

Dan grimaced and started working on removing his foot from the rib cage without hurting himself. Of course he’d stepped in a rib cage. Of course he’d tripped. Of course he’d bitten his tongue hard enough to bleed.

Of course he had to be hurt, however minorly, on an old battlefield.

Finally, he managed to work his foot free and carefully pushed himself up, fingers digging into the grass and ground.

He stood and stared out at the battlefield, then at his blood coating the back of his hand. So much blood had been spilled here, so many lives ended.

And none of them had gotten any sort of final rest. No funerals, no rites, not even burned bodies.

Well...

He could, at least, fix one of those now.

He spit out the blood filling his mouth, then flexed his tongue and winced.

And then, then he sang.

It wasn’t anything glorious. It was, in fact, a funeral song, part of the last rites most people got at their funerals. He’d sung them before, at Phil’s funeral, and he knew the lyrics well.

He had his eyes closed for a good portion of the song, throwing his whole heart into it.

It was the first proper song he’d sung since Phil’s death over a year ago.

As the final chorus came to an end, Dan slumped slightly, wiping the blood off his lip again. That had been much more exhausting than he’d thought it would be.

And when he opened his eyes, a white form was in front of him—wispy and undeniably humanoid, holding a thin replica of the broken sword next to the skeleton Dan had almost faceplanted into.

Dan opened his mouth and said something very eloquent.

“Uh.”

The ghost—it had to be a ghost, because shades were made of shadows and this was made of mist (though just as featureless)—seemed to look at Dan for a long time before lowering the ghostly sword. “What are the attack orders, Lord Howell?”

Dan blinked, then, so taken aback by the question that it made him a bit light-headed, sat down. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you injured?” The ghost crouched and reached halfway toward him. “Do you need me to fetch a healer?”

“I-” Dan blinked again, then frowned. “The war’s been over for almost seven years now, my good soldier.”

The ghost rocked back on their heels.

“...are the Realms safe?”

Dan nodded. “They are. We won.”

The ghost let out a long breath, form shimmering more and more the longer the sigh went on.

Dan got more and more light-headed as it went on.

“King Barnes still sits on the throne?”

Well, this ghost probably wasn’t aware of Wade’s coronation, but... eh.

“Yes.”

The ghost hung their head. “Good. The fight is over, then.”

“Yes.”

They nodded briefly, then faded to translucence.

And then they were gone.

Dan slowly got to his feet, even though standing alone was sending him wobbling violently.

“Peej?” he called.

“Yeah- Dan, what’s wrong?” PJ stood from his place in camp, staring at Dan in concern.

“I think...” Dan stumbled back to the edge of camp, somehow avoiding any more rib cages. “I think I summoned a ghost?”

“What?”

But Dan’s vision went dark, and he was only vaguely aware of PJ catching him before he hit the ground.

And then unconsciousness claimed him.

\-----

The nobility burial grounds in Triol were high in the mountains, surrounded by thick forest. From Triol, it was nearly an entire day’s journey to the closest edge, and then another hour to the stone tomb of Lord Phil Lester.

In the year since it had been sealed, moss had begun growing on the outside of the stones. Normally, the growth would have been cleared off, but Dan had expressly forbidden anyone care for the tomb. Phil had loved plants and nature when he was alive, after all, the least they could do was let it surround him in the natural order of things.

It would be quite some time before nature fully claimed Phil’s tomb, but that was alright. It wasn’t like anyone really came to visit, now that Dil was barely managing to run a Realm with Tabitha and Dan and PJ moved out of the Third Realm altogether.

If any of them had been there, they might have noticed that something in the air seemed to shift just a slight bit, that the potential for the future was suddenly much different.

But none of them were, and so the change went unnoticed.

The feeling lasted for only a few seconds, enough to disorient someone and make them uneasy even after it left.

The sensation passed, and things returned to normal.

Except for the tiny flowers that were growing all by themselves on top of the moss, sprouting and blooming in a matter of minutes, completely covering the stone half-sphere containing Phil’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OuO


	17. Hidden

Gar stretched, digging his paws into the ground.

He’d missed spending time as a wolf. It had been too dangerous to practice this magic in Primus, and impractical when they were traveling.

_ “This is strange,”  _ Snow said.  _ “Is this what you did when I wasn’t paying attention?” _

Gar wriggled, appreciating how smoothly he moved.  _ “Oh, absolutely.” _

“Gar?” Molly asked hesitantly. “You look almost the same as you used to.”

Gar tilted his head and walked up to her smell, nudging her with his head. Human words didn’t work in a wolf mouth.

She scratched him softly behind the ears.

“No wing, though.”

Gar borked softly, then laid down and curled his tail around himself. The unmistakable smell of dirt and plants and petrichor of Greenscale was getting close, and he wanted to be able to listen to what they had to say.

“You make a fine wolf, Gar,” Greenscale said by way of greeting. “Am I right in that you still can’t see?”

Gar nodded.

Every other injury he’d gotten had translated to his other forms, across the centuries. It only made sense that this did too.

“Alright.” Gravel crunched underfoot as Greenscale continued to move. “I enlisted some help for this one. I’m going to be bringing in two people, who you’ve met before in your human form, and I want you to identify them by smell alone.”

Gar gave another nod. As a wolf, the motion was exaggerated, but it was a decently effective way to communicate when nobody else spoke wolf.

“Okay.” Footsteps. “Here’s the first.”

Gar lifted his nose and sniffed. There wasn’t a great deal of information to go off of here—he couldn’t hear them to know where they were.

He stood and hesitantly padded forward before sniffing again.

This time, he got a new smell: fresh and soft, almost, and a lot like Molly.

Was this one of the twins?

Gar padded up to Greenscale, the scent getting stronger the closer he got. After that, it was just a matter of sniffing until he found the baby in Greenscale’s arms.

A soft squeal and tiny hands whacked him in the nose.

Gar blinked and sat, tilting his head. The twins were three months old, now, so it made sense they didn’t have much smell he would associate with either of them, and this was the first time he was being a wolf around either, so he didn’t have past experience sniffing them.

_ “I could tell you which one it is.” _

_ “Shh.” _

Gar sniffed the infant again, getting another squeal, this one of obvious delight.

Ah. That meant it was Haley. Fearless girl. If it was Taylor, he’d be staring at Gar in silence.

Gar stood and gently booped Haley with his nose, getting a delighted shriek in response.

Then, very aware Molly was watching him, he decided against licking and wagged his tail instead.

_ “You should have licked the baby.” _

_ “Snow.” _

_ “It wouldn’t have hurt her.” _

_ “It’s not her being hurt I’m worried about.” _

Snow laughed.  _ “What, are you worried Molly would kill you?” _

_ “Do you think she wouldn’t?” _

_ “I’ll take your word for it,” _ Snow chuckled.

Gar decided to just ignore him.

“Okay,” Greenscale said, “the second person is standing next to Molly.”

Gar turned his attention to the familiar presence—and smell—of Molly and gave an experimental sniff.

Oh, he knew who that was.

That was Arianna, Luna’s future Protector. Sweet girl. Hopefully she’d improved in her weapons training since he’d left. (Granted, nearly two years gave quite the time for improvement.) There wasn’t any point in borking at her, since she wouldn’t hear it—but he did it anyway, and heard a soft laugh in return.

Good.

How they were supposed to communicate thoroughly, he honestly wasn’t sure. Before, they’d signed at each other, but now he couldn’t see what she would sign. Or what she would write, because she used that fairly often too.

He might just have to have someone translate for him.

Gar walked up to Arianna and wagged his tail.

She put her hand on his head and gave him tiny scritches.

All of the trainee Protectors who’d been around when he was here last, before he’d left to become Molly’s Protector, had learned not only that it was okay to pet him when he was a wolf (within reason), but his favorite spots.

Arianna lifted her hand and walked off, so Greenscale had probably dismissed her.

“Here’s Haley back,” Greenscale said, “unless you want me to keep holding her.”

“I imagine you don’t get to hold babies very often,” Molly said.

Greenscale hummed softly. “Not really, no. The last baby I held was Ethan, about five hundred years ago.”

“That’s… a long time to go between babies.”

Greenscale was silent. Then, “Ethan was the younger of the two eggs that survived in our first clutch. He and his brother kept us busy, and then the Empire was falling and it was time to reinstate the royal family. At that point in time, we weren’t aware Gar was the reason it fell, but we did know it was his  _ many _ times removed grandson who took the throne.”

Gar let himself fall back into his human form and stood from his crouch. “What was his name?”

“Eiobard.”

Gar wrinkled his nose. Not what he would have chosen. Of course, if he’d been around to name children, he wouldn’t be alive today, because he would have returned home from the war and not become a demon.

Greenscale laughed and a hand patted Gar on the shoulder. “Come on. There’s something we’ve been wanting to show you.”

“Oh?” Molly asked, though she grabbed Gar’s hand and led him forward.

“Snow’s already guessed it, for quite some time,” Greenscale said, sounding a bit like they were facing away. Probably talking over their shoulder. “But we won’t be able to hide it for much longer, and we wanted you to be the first to know.”

_ “This will be good,”  _ Snow said, sounding quite pleased with himself.

It took Gar tripping over several stairs and pushing through heavy fabric, but he was in a cool room where the air seemed almost heavy.

“Oh,” Molly breathed.  _ “Oh.” _

Gar just let his hands dangle by his side.

“Greenscale, they’re beautiful.”

“I can’t take much credit, honestly. Bluescale’s been doing most of the work.”

“But- how?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“No.”

“Thought so.”

“I would like to be filled in,” Gar said.

_ “They have eggs, Gar,”  _ Snow said.

“Come here,” Greenscale said before leading Gar into what felt like a bed made of stones and feathers and fabrics and the distinct scent of plants.

Oh.

This was their nest. But he’d thought they just had rooms like everyone else?

“Do you sleep in there?” Molly asked.

“Not when all three of us are in our human forms, no,” Greenscale called back. “We have a giant bed for then.”

“I was gonna say,” Gar said, slipping slightly, “I didn’t remember you having a nest.”

“We made it.” Greenscale stopped Gar. “Okay, you can kneel here.”

Gar slowly, carefully, complied.

“Reach out.”

Gar obeyed, then gasped as his fingers encountered an incredibly smooth and comfortably warm surface.

“That’s the one we’re expecting to hatch third,” Greenscale said, sounding incredibly proud.

“How many are there?”

“Currently? Six.”

Gar pulled his hand back from the egg. “Currently?”

“We’re hoping for two more.”

“It had better be more than one,” Bluescale said.

Gar jumped slightly. He hadn’t heard her come in.

“Oh. Bluescale...” Molly paused. “How long have you been expecting?”

“Oh, I’ve been doing this for almost five months. Just, with one egg at a time, I didn’t show. That’s why it had better be more than one.”

Gar paused, then raised his hand.

Bluescale laughed. “I only have them for a fortnight before I lay them, Gar.”

He made a face. “I’m just going to assume normal human rules don’t apply, if that’s okay.”

“Probably a fair idea, considering we’re dragons.”

“Do you mind if I ask how long until they start hatching?” Gar asked, resting his hands on his knees. He didn’t want to risk touching the eggs too much, just in case that did something.

“Early winter for the first. Then early spring for the next, ideally.”

“That’s... still quite a ways off.” It was, after all, a month into spring.

“Yes, well, I’d much rather they grow in the eggs instead of in me, considering how many there are.” Bluescale laughed softly, though that familiar edge of exhaustion was still there. “Plus, I wouldn’t want to give birth to scaly babies.”

“I can get behind that,” Molly said.

“Do the trainees know about them?” Gar asked.

“No, not yet,” Greenscale said. “We’re trying to keep them from finding out as long as possible. At least until they’re all laid.”

“I’m sure a few of them have put it together. They’re children, not stupid.”

“I’m almost as old as you are and I didn’t put it together,” Gar pointed out.

_ “Yes, well,”  _ Snow said,  _ “nobody said you were smart.” _

_ “I will fight you.” _

_ “Good luck with that one.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	18. Tournament

Diul was a busy city, even in the heavy spring rains—but then again, most capital cities were. Some of the business was bound to be from the tournament. Dan and PJ knew from personal experience just how many people this kind of event brought in.

“Welcome, Lord Howell,” Jordan said as he rode up, guards following shortly behind and keeping the crowd from engulfing them, “Protector Liguori.”

“Lord Moran,” Dan returned, dipping his head.

“How was the trip?”

“Long and wet,” Dan said dryly. “But that was to be expected.”

They had decided to keep Dan’s newfound ability a secret, at least for now. Necromancy was  _ not _ a popular magic. It was also blood magic, so forbidden to the general public.

Jordan laughed softly. “I suppose so.” He caught PJ’s eye. “Don’t worry, Protector. There are plenty of guards stationed everywhere for the event. Safety is our utmost priority.”

“Tournaments aren’t exactly known to be safe.” PJ raised an eyebrow.

“We have healers too.”

“That’s always a comfort.”

Dan and Jordan continued making small talk as they rode to the fortress, leaving PJ to look around the city as they moved. He’d never been here, not personally, but he’d heard stories about it. Not for a few years now, not since Yami and his Protector had died, as Jess and her Protector didn’t talk much of the place.

(Considering neither of them were particularly happy to be there instead of home in the Fifth Realm, that wasn’t terribly surprising. But someone had had to take over after Yami died.)

The scars of the war were still pretty obvious, especially since PJ knew what to look for. Patches of the outside walls were obviously newer than the rest, some buildings and roads were scorched, people were looking warily around at people they didn’t recognize...

It would be generations before the Realms had fully healed from the war.

As soon as they got to the fortress, Jordan led them to a set of rooms. Jordan and Dan stopped in the middle of the solar, but PJ instantly started opening all the drawers and chests.

“I’ll not keep you from rest after travelling so far, but I did want to thank you for coming.” Jordan shrugged slightly. “I know you’re not here to participate, and I’m about ninety percent sure Amanda talking you into this is the only reason you came at all, but I still appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Dan said. Then he paused. “The pack horse we brought—everything on it is stuff Amanda sent for you. She said you needed it.”

Jordan’s face lit up. “Really? Did she say what it was?”

“Things for magic.”

Jordan beamed even brighter. “What a thoughtful woman.”

“Do you mind if I ask how you two know each other so well?” PJ asked from the table he was inspecting.

“We grew up together. Didn’t interact a lot until we learned we were both candidates for getting married off.” Jordan tilted his head. “I must have been fifteen or so then? And then negotiations decided she was the first half of the treaty and I was the second half, and... well, she cried that night.” He frowned. “And that was the last I saw of her until last year, though we talked from time to time.”

“Twenty years is a long time to go between seeing people.”

“Yeah, well,” Jordan sighed, “I wasn’t particularly looking forward to getting married off.”

“I get it,” Dan said quietly.

Jordan nodded. “At least I was married off in my thirties instead of at seventeen. I am immensely grateful for that.”

Dan just sort of shrugged. “I did both.”

Jordan made a sympathetic face. “I’d give you a pat on your shoulder to comfort you, but you’re so much taller than I am that’s just awkward.”

Dan laughed softly. “It’s alright.”

Jordan turned to leave, then paused. “Supper is in a few hours. I’ll send someone to show you the way when it’s time.”

“Alright.”

And then he was gone.

Instantly, Dan flopped into one of the chairs, not even bothering to pull off his travel cloak.

“I don’t think he’ll appreciate you getting his chairs wet,” PJ said without looking over, instead opening another set of drawers.

Oooo, this one had paints in it.

“I think he’ll understand,” Dan replied, though his fingers started playing with his cloak clasp. “Besides, it’ll dry.”

PJ shrugged and took off his own cloak before sitting down and rubbing where his leg met prosthetic.

“You doing okay?” Dan asked.

“Just sore. I don’t think MatPat really considered how difficult it is to ride for extended periods of time with a chunk of metal and wood hanging off your leg.”

“I don’t think Jordan would have minded if you’d gone without for the day.”

PJ snorted. He’d learned how to ride without his prosthetic on the way over—it had confused his horse at first, but they had it down now—but had decided it would be easier for people to not pick him out as a weak target as soon as they entered the city. “It’s not him I was worried about.”

Dan just sighed, sliding more and more into the chair. “I’m glad this chair is comfy enough for me to continue ruining my posture.”

PJ chuckled. “Such high standards.”

“Of course.”

\-----

Supper was a pleasant affair, with Jordan happily talking about the things Amanda had sent. He was wearing something new, PJ noted: a bunch of small feathers held together by an unfamiliar wax seal. It was rather fluffy.

“I’ll have to thank Amanda for the supplies, since it means I can do magic again, but sincerely—thank you for hauling these across two different Realms.”

Dan smiled. “You’re welcome.” Then he paused and glanced at PJ, who was leaning back in his chair, dull exhaustion thrumming across their binding. “Go on and head back to the room, Peej. I’ll be there in a minute.”

PJ just nodded and walked off.

“Don’t stay to talk to me on my account,” Jordan said wryly. “I’m here all the time. Go rest.”

Dan smiled again. “When do the events start?”

“Tomorrow, at sunrise, but don’t show up if you’re not awake yet.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t be there until at least noon.”

Jordan laughed and waved Dan away. “Go sleep.”

\-----

Had PJ been more awake, or less sore from travel, or more observant, he would have noticed what was going on sooner. As it was, he only saw the figures moving in the shadows and rafters a fraction of a second before they sprang on him.

Panic flared, filling the binding between Dan and PJ, and Dan jumped from his casual walk into a run. Something was wrong, and he wasn’t going to leave PJ to tackle it alone.

Hands grabbed PJ, slamming him into the wall. Both he and his attacker slid to the floor as PJ tried to push them away with one hand while reaching for his dagger with the other, but then a second person grabbed his arms and pinned them, and a third person his legs.

Dan cursed as the panic reached a fever pitch, nearly tripping on himself as he ran full speed, and then cursed again as he slid on a rug and slammed into the wall trying to round a corner.

“Dan!” PJ shouted. He was close, he was close. “Da-” Someone crammed fabric into his mouth.

The hands that first tackled him grabbed at his neck, fingers scrabbling.

What were they-

PJ’s eyes widened as their fingers hooked around the chain to his medallion, and threw all of his energy into struggling. If they took it- If they took it, he would die.

“Hold him!” The voice was rough in PJ’s ear, but the accent was unmistakably Bossatronian.

Hands grabbed him, body weight pinning him, and his medallion was pulled free of its hidden place against his chest.

And then it was off over his head.

It wasn’t touching him any more.

Instantly, pain flooded PJ’s system, and his magic began rolling, threatening to escape the limits he had set on it and start doing things itself.

PJ began to die.

Dan rounded the final corner and there, there was PJ, pinned by four or five people.

“Hey!” Dan drew his sword as he ran the remaining distance.

The people looked up, and scattered.

Dan ran to PJ and crouched next to him, only to find him gasping on the ground, hands scrabbling at his chest. Where his medallion was.

“Peej, what’s wrong?” Dan breathed. “Are you hurt?”

“Medallion- they took it.” PJ gasped out, then started coughing.

Dan’s head snapped up in the direction the people had gone. “What.” Then he shook his head. “How long do you have?”

PJ shook his head, gasping too much for air to even be able to talk. “Voice-” He coughed again, and this fit was so long and intense blood flecked his lips. “Bossatron.”

Dan stared at PJ, then made a decision. Possibly a terrible decision, but he wasn’t going to lose PJ. Not after he’d lost Phil.

He carefully moved PJ’s hands from his chest, and put one of his own there, then the other on PJ’s head.

And then, very softly, with the pittering rhythm the ongoing rain provided against the nearby window panes, he began to sing.

It was a battle to calm PJ’s magic, to repair what damage it had done to him already, but Dan did it. Dan poured what healing he could into PJ, until his friend laid still under him. But as soon as he stopped, PJ’s magic would just start killing him all over again.

So Dan reached deep into PJ’s song and nestled it, wrapped it in soothing songs, and forced PJ’s magic to sleep.

He forced PJ to sleep.

And until Dan removed his magic, neither PJ nor his magic would wake.

Dan opened his eyes, sagging, but continued humming as he watched. What he’d done hadn’t stopped the damage PJ’s magic was doing, but it had slowed it a lot.

Good.

Dan stopped humming and slowly clambered to his knees, then onto one knee. Then he carefully scooped up PJ, grunting at the effort, and even more carefully stood. Then, his unconscious Protector in his arms, he slowly made his way the remaining distance to their rooms and set him down on the bed. Technically, it was Dan’s own bed, but Dan didn’t want to carry PJ the extra ten feet to PJ’s bed.

Then he took a deep breath, and, despite his own exhaustion, left the room and went back to find Jordan.

He had some people to hunt down, and he needed help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c:


	19. A Quiet Night

Rain swooshed softly as it fell, hitting Amile’s face and shoulders and back in a most satisfying manner.

She laughed despite the blindfold over her face. “Where are we going?”

Joshua’s chest seemed to rumble with her head pressed against his shoulder and her arms wrapped around him. “You’ll see.”

“Joshua.”

“I promise, it’s not a bad surprise. Just trust me.”

“Always. I just trust you less when you’re surprising me.”

Joshua laughed again.

It was the first time in almost a month they’d left Septimal on their weekly date. Not that “weekly” was necessarily an accurate description when they’d see each other most days (JP kept finding excuses to go to the fortress, and the overseer kept finding excuses for Joshua to take a break at those exact times) and spent several evenings a week with each other.

And, considering most courtships lasted a matter of three or four months outside of the nobility, they’d been together quite a while without getting married by regular standards.

The ground under the horse’s hoof stopped squishing in mud and started shifting, like they were nyooming across wet sand.

Amile perked up. “Are we on the beach?”

“I can’t get anything past you, can I.” Joshua didn’t sound terribly upset about that, but she burrowed into his shoulder a bit more just in case.

“It sounds different.”

He just laughed. “As I said, you’ll see.”

The ever-present sound of the ocean got louder and louder, which meant they did indeed have to be on the beach. They weren’t stopping, though, so where were they going?

Amile was completely soaked and shivering by the time Joshua pulled the horse to a stop. So much so it took her a minute to realize she wasn’t getting pelted by rain any more.

“Joshua?”

“We’re here.” He slid off the horse in front of her, then his hands took hers and she slid off herself.

“Where’s ‘here’?”

He laughed again and pulled her close, blindfold pulling against her face uncomfortably as he untied it.

When she could see again, her eyes widened.

This was the cave where they’d had their first date.

“Joshua!”

He grinned widely at her and just started leading her down the beach.

“So, uh, normally I’d ask your parents for their blessing on this, but Lord Woodward said he was basically your dad?” Joshua tilted his head slightly in obvious confusion.

Amile snorted. “Close enough, I suppose.”

“And I know we’ve been talking about this a lot, and you were probably expecting it sooner, but I didn’t want to do this until I was sure you were okay with it and that I knew all your boundaries and-”

Amile laughed. “Joshua, Joshua please. Did you drag me all the way out here to propose to me.”

He looked down and rubbed the back of his head. “Why, uh, yes. Yes I did.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small satchel, only for Amile to pull him into a hug.

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“It’s traditional for me to at least show you the ring first,” Joshua said before kissing her forehead.

“When have we ever been a traditional couple,” Amile asked.

Joshua laughed and pulled her in close again. “Fair.”

\-----

Amile was woken not by the sand in her clothes and skin, nor by the sensation of Joshua breathing evenly next to her, nor by the gentle light filtering into the cave from the outside world--though, normally, one of those would have woken her sooner or later.

No, she was woken by a surge of worry and protectiveness and panic from JP.

As a result, her wake up was not at all dignified or calm, and was instead a startled gasp and a flail.

“Woah!” Joshua started, and he almost touched her before stopping himself. “Everything okay?”

Amile rolled to her feet, brushing sand off herself. “JP- He’s freaking out. I’m sorry.”

Joshua just nodded, getting to his feet while Amile sent her magic running to JP.

“You’re not dead!” His relief was almost physical across their binding.

“You’d know if I died.” Amile frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. I just...” JP sighed. “I got some news and panicked.”

“Do I need to know this news?”

“Probably.”

A pause, where Joshua sent her a curious look and she shrugged at him.

“PJ’s medallion was stolen last night.”

Amile froze, her hand automatically flying to her own medallion.  _ “What.” _

That- Who would-  _ Who would subject someone to that kind of death. _

“He’s still alive, but-”

“Wait, wait.” Amile blinked, wishing she could see JP. “How?”

“I don’t know. Dan said he did something to ‘slow the process’ and that he’s going after the people who took the medallion to get it back.”

“Unless they know not to touch it directly, he’s going to be following a trail of corpses.” Medallions were  _ not _ supposed to leave their Protectors, and so had failsafes enchanted into them, but she’d never heard of them being used before. Of course, most of the time when Protector and medallion were separated you had a dead Protector, so there was that.

“So far their trail is headed towards Bossatron.”

Amile frowned. “That’s not good. I assume Dan is somehow using magic to follow it?”

“He said it feels like a piece of PJ being taken further and further away from him.”

“That sounds about right.” Amile ran her hand over the chain of her medallion, the gold cool under her fingertips.

“Do... do you know how long he’s going to have to find it?”

Amile shook her head. “No. I’ve never heard of this happening before.”

JP just sighed. “Oh boy.”

“Indeed.”

“Oh, by the way,” JP switched tones very suddenly, “how did last night go?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Amile, c’mon.”

“We can talk about it when I get back.”

JP sighed. “Fair enough.” He paused. “We have quite a few things to talk about when you get back, actually.”

“That’s ominous.”

“Good.”

Amile rolled her eyes. “If you’re not in any actual danger then I’ll leave now.”

JP chuckled. “Okay. I’ll be playing with Cat.”

Amile shook her head and withdrew her magic, then turned to the expectantly waiting Joshua.

“Something came up. I’m sorry-”

He pulled her close and put his forehead on hers. “I know, I know. Work comes first. It’s okay. We can plan later.”

“Thank you.”

He just smiled at her.

“Come on,” she said, taking his hand and heading over to the horse, “let’s get back before he does actually hurt himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	20. Isolated

The royal quarters in Primus were silent. They usually were, as Wade was spending more and more time in Pat and Marie’s solar just to help keep himself sane with the company, but this wasn’t one of those times. No, for now Wade was asleep, and Pat had retired to spend the rest of the evening with Marie before heading to sleep himself.

Pat ran his fingers absently over his medallion, the incredibly smooth material cool under his fingers.

PJ had had his taken. If it weren’t for Dan, he’d be dead already.

Wade’s sigil, the thing that had been missing for over a decade after they were bound to each other, was still as distinct as ever. Why had the magic waited so long to give him a sigil?

Pat traced the indents and emerging sections, the feel still sometimes strange but right now a comfort more than anything.

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Marie asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

“Hmm?” Pat glanced over at her. “Uh, not really.” He frowned at his medallion. “He wants to be with Molly and their twins, but we have to stay here so he can run things. And it’s too dangerous for them to come back here right now, with the dragon and with the twins being so young still. Especially since Gar can’t actually defend them right now.”

“Do you think he’ll get his sight back?”

Pat shook his head slowly, resting his fingers on his medallion again. It helped, sometimes, to be touching it with his hand while he focused on the other Protectors. And when he focused on Gar...

“No. The Guardians are skilled healers, and he’s just as capable of healing himself. If he hasn’t, it means he can’t.”

Marie frowned herself. “That’s rough.”

“He’ll figure it out.” Pat slung his left arm along next to his head. Before the war, it would have flopped over the arm of the couch he was stretched across, but the closest it got was his stump flopping into the cushioning. “There have been a fair number of blind Protectors before. The Guardians know what they’re doing.”

“I know, I just-” Marie sighed. “He’s never had to deal with that before.”

“Yeah.”

Pat continued running his fingers over his medallion, returning his gaze to the wood and stone ceiling of the room.

Gar was with the trainee Protectors, he knew, but he couldn’t find them to focus on them. A result of being the King’s Protector, he supposed, when Gar could sense them as the Queen’s Protector.

Pat’s fingers fell still, resting on his medallion, as he focused even more on Gar.

He was a bit distressed--understandable, considering everything--and tired, but also proud of himself. 

There was also a distinct sense of someone Pat had never sensed before pressing back at him. 

Was this Snow? 

Pat withdrew his attention, and the return pressure stopped before Gar’s magic brushed his reassuringly.

He was doing okay. That was good.

Pat turned his attention to the Protectors around the kingdom one by one, quietly checking in on them.

Amile was ecstatic, a wonderfully peaceful kind of bliss surrounding her. He didn’t bother pushing to find out why--that never went well with her.

Jason was stressed (though to be honest, which of the Protectors weren’t) and tense, but there was an undeniable softness radiating from him.

Jason’s magic reached back for a brief second, just enough for a whispered, “Stop that,” before it withdrew.

Pat chuckled and focused on the two Protectors in the Third Realm. And then there weren’t any in the Fourth as a whole. 

In the second was PJ, but he didn’t react at all to Pat’s prodding, and the only thing emanating from him was a slow, familiar pain. It was almost like his magic had been suppressed to keep it from killing him.

How interesting.

Pat’s hand flattened on his medallion as he stretched his magic to investigate a bit further, then relaxed as he got the answer he wanted.

Pat frowned and sent his magic running a bit more, to Dan.

“What,” Dan said in a rather clipped tone.

“I think I can help keep PJ alive longer.”

A long silence. Then, “How- No, I don’t really care all that much. Do it. I need all the time I can get.”

“Alright, but... it’s going to feel really weird on your end.”

“I’ll deal with it.”

“Just... as a heads up... if you start to feel that tingly feeling that happens when a limb falls asleep?”

“That’s you?”

“It is.”

“That explains the name, I suppose.”

“Yep.” Pat’s fingers started tracing his medallion again. “I’ll go do the thing, then.”

“Thank you. I-” Dan broke off. “I can’t lose him too.”

“I can only help him for so long, Dan,” Pat murmured. “You’ve got to find his medallion before it’s too late.”

“Just... thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

And then Dan withdrew his magic, leaving Pat to send his back towards PJ.

Pat’s hand flattened, then tightly gripped his medallion as he focused more on what he was doing. His magic was difficult to control even under the best of circumstances, and using it on someone almost a month’s travel away was not the best of circumstances.

But, carefully, slowly, he managed to ease his magic in around PJ’s, nestling it in a bundle of static and silence, then let it settle in the magic Dan had put there.

Okay.

PJ didn’t die, so he must have done that right.

Pat slumped even more into the couch, hand flopping off his chest and medallion, breathing hard.

“Pat? You okay?” Marie’s face was over his, obviously concerned.

“Ye- yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He took another set of deep breaths. “I’m just not used to doing magic over such long distances.”

She gave him a bit of a suspicious look, but didn’t say anything besides, “Be careful, okay?”

“Of course.”

Pat let himself catch his breath--yeah, it was definitely time for bed after this--before he touched his medallion again. He had one last Protector to focus on before he was done.

It was a bit of a puzzling result, and Pat was left hoping everything was alright. They couldn’t afford to have nobles and Protectors not cooperating.

He sighed.

Felix had been furious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit more safety for PJ and a hint at what Pat's magic is. 
> 
> I don't give Pat enough attention in this, tbh. I'll have to see if I can fix that in future chapters.


	21. Thunder and Lightning

The fortress in Quintal, capital of the Fifth Realm, was built into the mountain much the same way the entire city of Triol was. Unlike Triol, though, the fortress in Quintal was only two levels deep: the outer layer having more room, but the inner layer containing the living quarters for the nobility and Protectors.

In the war, it had served as a stronghold many times, never even getting close to falling to sieging soldiers and demons, and was widely regarded as one of the safest places in the area.

Nobody wanted to be there right now.

The spring storms had reached the Fifth Realm, and as heavy as the rain was, it wasn’t the reason for the lightning bolt that tore the sky and shattered cobblestones in one of the courtyards. Nor was it the reason the resulting thunderclap echoed through the entire city.

The reasons for those were standing on the highest battlements, frames rigid, and entirely focused on each other.

Felix’s dripping wet armor almost seemed to glow as it reflected another, more distant, lightning strike, and his hair was plastered to his head as he glared at Cry.

Cry’s hair, wet as it was, was whipping in the wind--and his cloak was billowing dramatically. Bright blue electricity was crackling up his right arm, dancing around his clenched hand, mask staring stoically at Felix.

“It doesn’t matter,” Felix snapped. “I’ve been saying this for months.”

Cry cursed. “Clearly it does!”

“It was the middle of the war, Cry. Of course you had more important things to do than  _ call your Protector back from death,  _ people were dying and it’s your job to stop that.”

_ “Stop avoiding the real problem.” _ Cry took a step forward. “I should have found a way to get you, yes, I absolutely agree with that. But you have to realize:  _ I wasn’t aware I could call you back. _ Nobody tells me these things, Felix! How am I supposed to do something I don’t know I can do!”

“You can’t.” Felix went to retort something else, but clamped his mouth shut instead. “I told you, it’s stupid. Leave me alone.”

Cry took another step forward. “No. Not until you realize it’s not your fault what happened.”

“Not my fault!  _ Not my fault?!”  _ Felix stared incredulously at Cry. “I  _ abandoned _ you in a fight with a demon, and even when I got brought back  _ I almost didn’t notice you were suffocating in time. What kind of a Protector does that make me?!” _

_ “My Protector.” _

Felix seemed to choke back something, blinking furiously. “Really? Because you’ve saved me more than I’ve saved you. That doesn’t seem like I’ve done all that much protecting.”

“Felix-”

“I’ve done nothing but play devil’s advocate for you, argue against your plans, refuse to help you practice--I  _ fell _ in  _ the lake, _ Cry. The lake!” Felix swallowed heavily. “You should have let me drown.”

“What? No! Felix, you’re  _ supposed _ to do those things. It was part of your oaths, remember?”

“I’m pretty sure falling in a lake and almost getting both of us killed wasn’t in my oaths.” Felix took a step backwards, shaking his head.

Cry stepped forward again. “Felix,  _ listen. _ Accidents happen.”

Felix shook his head and stared at the ground. “I’m supposed to keep them from happening, Cry. And I don’t. I’m just a liability--I get us hurt and I don’t think before I open my mouth and I wasn’t here for you or any of our friends or for the war or for Marzia or  _ anything. _ ” He sagged, stepping back again, boot splashing in the rapidly deepening puddles. “I’m  _ not _ a good Protector, I’m  _ not  _ a good friend, I’m  _ not _ good at  _ anything _ . I’m not a good  _ person.” _ Felix’s voice cracked on the last word, and he halfway crumpled with a sob, catching himself on the stone battlement. 

“Who said that?”

“A lot of people.” Felix slowly sank to the stones, getting more and more soaked now that he was curled up. “And they’re right.”

“Felix-”

Felix buried his head in his arms, trying to fight back another sob. The last thing he needed was Cry thinking he was pathetic for letting this get to him.

Cry stared helplessly at his friend, then sighed and flicked his fingers, casually dispersing the buildup of electricity in a shrieking lightning ball that exploded in the courtyard. He pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his sword belt. That done, he reached up to his face, hesitated, and pulled off his mask.

The heavy rain on his face was shocking, almost stinging as it pelted his scars.

His scars.

Cry’s fingers traced the network of scars. He’d had them for most of his life now--he’d had them for the entire time Felix had known him. And that was the important part.

He forced his fingers away from his face and crouched next to Felix, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Felix.”

Felix shrugged off Cry’s hand. He didn’t want Cry to see him crying.

A hand slipped in the space between his shoulder and elbow and grasped his chin, forcing it up.

...was Cry touching him with bare hands? He never took his gloves off if he could help it.

Felix looked up, too in shock to fight Cry’s gentle pull.

Lightning flashed again, unmistakably illuminating the fact that Cry wasn’t wearing his mask.

Cry’s brow furrowed as his eyes searched Felix’s.

“Felix.”

“You took off your mask.” Why- why had he done that?

Cry’s expression softened. “Felix, mistakes don’t make you a bad person. Even big ones. Being dead through the war doesn’t make you a bad person. You’ve kept trying to be better, even almost eight years after the war ended. People are stupid sometimes, but that doesn’t make anyone a bad person. And there’s no laws about acting smart or even being smart. And none of that changes the fact that we are  _ bound by magic, Felix, _ and you’ve been beating yourself up about this for far too long.”

“Why did you take off your mask?” Focusing on that was much better than starting to cry all over again at what Cry was saying.

“Do you remember, when we were first bound, how my nightmares about the fire would wake you up?”

Felix nodded. It had been so long since then--had it really been twenty years?--but the memories were still there. “They still do.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not a one-sided thing.” Cry raised an eyebrow, then winced and wiped the water off his face. “I can tell when you’ve been having nightmares. Every time, it’s like you’re trapped.”

“I was.” Felix blinked rapidly, even as memories of being stuck in his statue threatened to surface. “I didn’t have a body, Cry, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t-” His breath caught. “Gods, I couldn’t even see.” A sob tore out of him. “I couldn’t do  _ anything,  _ Cry, and you were off fighting in a war  _ and I wasn’t there to help you-” _

Felix cut off in surprise as Cry’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a hug.

Felix blinked, then slowly lifted his arms to return the hug despite the tears still streaming down his face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Cry said soothingly, though he sounded like he was about to start crying himself, his chin resting on Felix’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

That was all it took for the dam to break, and Felix just started sobbing on Cry’s shoulder, burying his face into Cry’s cloak.

The storm continued, and it didn’t take long at all for the two of them to be soaked and shivering and both crying, but it wasn’t so threatening any more. It was quieter, softer, and, for the first time in years, something deep inside Felix didn’t feel so alone any more.


	22. Reflection

Gar was broken from listening to the training going on in the courtyard by Beatrice--the name he’d eventually given Dante’s daughter--giving a small bark. Then something was being placed on his head--around his head? It felt like a crown or a circlet of some kind.

_ “You were born to carry the weight of one,” _ Snow said softly.

“What’s this?” Gar opted to ignore the stabbing ache that sent through him.

“A flower crown,” one of the little Protectors said, clearly delighted. “Greenscale said it was for you.”

Gar carefully reached up to feel the petals and leaves, and his fingers encountered a wide variety of petal shapes and frequency.

They also encountered the stems already getting tangled in his hair.

He knew he should have cut it before now.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome!” A giggle, and then small feet skipping away.

_ “That statement was unnecessary,” _ he said to Snow.

Snow sighed.  _ “The longer we’re stuck in this body together, the more I’m realizing just how much you’ve forgotten.” _

_ “I know I was a prince, Snow, but it’s been a thousand years. Let it die. I’m not one any more.” _

_ “No. You’re not,” _ Snow agreed, and relief sighed through Gar,  _ “but you’re a Royal Protector now.” _

And the tension was back.

_ “I don’t wear the crown.” _

_ “I know. But you help carry Molly, and she carries half the weight of the crown.” _

Gar sighed, letting his head drop. “Snow...”

Snow remained silent, as if aware Gar wasn’t finished. Of course he knew. The two of them had been bound for over a thousand years.

_ “What am I supposed to do with you?” _

A distinct feel of amusement came through their binding, for the first time since Gar had been called back seven months ago.  _ “Love me.” _

_ “Snow.” _

Snow laughed softly.

_ “Snow, you’re like a brother to me. You’ve stood by me for longer than you really should have.” _ Gar shook his head.  _ “Of course I love you.” _

_ “Aw.” _

It was true, though. There were very few people Gar felt comfortable calling family, even after all his time alive, and he loved them very much--even if they never normally admitted it to each other. (Gods forbid he ever admitted it to Wade. The man would be unstoppable with that kind of information.) Pat knew, though, and he hoped Molly did. JP, though they got to see each other much less than Gar would like. Even the other Protectors, to a certain extent.

Familial love was great.

With that thought, though, came a deep kind of sadness.

PJ.

He’d learned what had happened. Not when anyone told Molly and him--though that did happen, after the fact.

No, he learned what happened when Blackscale had  _ screamed _ with rage, with heart-wrenching agony, distracting everyone from the evening meal.

Until they’d used the pools to talk to Wade and Molly the next day, they’d thought PJ was dead. What else had they been supposed to think? Blackscale had been so distressed over it, they’d nearly changed back into their dragon form then and there, and then they’d locked themselves in the Halls of the Dead. They still hadn’t come out.

_ “I wish I could help,” _ Snow said.  _ “But...” _

But they hadn’t managed to have him separate himself from Gar’s body once since that first time, and even then it was sure to end badly.

_ “I know. Dan’s looking, though. I just hope he catches up soon.” _

It had been a month since PJ’s medallion was taken. Dan had already crossed the border into Bossatron, getting ever closer to the people who had taken it, so it couldn’t be long now. Not when he sounded so sure King McLoughlin would help.

_ “...you know it won’t be that easy. Not after the war.” _

Gar lifted his head and set his hand on the ground next to him, where he’d set his staff down earlier. A soft ‘brr?’ from Beatrice made him smile. “Yeah, Bea, we’re moving. You ready?” Not waiting for an answer, he stood and slung his staff over his back--well, that was a bit of a misnomer, considering he had to snap it into the sort of sheath Blackscale had made just for this purpose.

Beatrice borked, and Gar began walking the now-familiar route around the training grounds back to Molly, her tiny footsteps following along next to him.

What Snow said nagged in his head, though, along with the memory of something he didn’t like to think about.

Ten years ago, he’d been in Bossatron, forced to head the demon attacks there.

He’d killed all Jack’s parents and siblings--he could still remember the feeling of their bodies giving way under the sword Molly had made him.

And he could still remember the demon that had very deliberately taken the form of then-Prince McLoughlin to lure in the man’s wife and guard (a guard Gar desperately wished he’d gotten a better look at, because there was no way any plain human had that much magic and Bossatronia didn’t  _ have _ Protectors) to lure in the  _ actual _ Prince McLoughlin.

Gar had seen plenty of possessions in the past. He’d ordered dozens, at least, when he was still consumed by the raw power and force of the demon magic available to him then. But none of them had quite chilled him the way the Entertainer had.

Maybe it was because, for the first time in his career as a demon, Gar had wanted the possession to fail.

\-----

“So this is Bossatron, huh?”

Dan didn’t spare a glance at Jordan as they rode through the gates. He didn’t say anything at all.

He hadn’t said much recently. Not as it got harder and harder to keep PJ alive, even with whatever Pat had done helping. 

Jordan made a face, something Dan caught out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing besides, “We’ll find it, Dan.”

Dan reached for the piece of PJ that they’d been chasing all this way, and sighed when it was close. Within the city close.

“We will,” he murmured, eyes drifting closed as exhaustion pulled at him.

How many nights had they ridden through? How many times had they ridden for 36 hours straight, just to cover more ground, only to sleep like the dead for ten hours while the horses rested before beginning again?

How many nights had he been unable to fall asleep, painfully aware of the agony slowly killing PJ, filled with anger towards the people who had done this, fearful that if he slept too deeply he’d lose grasp of his magic and PJ would die?

How many times had he accidentally brought a spirit back across the border between life and death in his agony?

He didn’t know, not anymore.

“They know we’re coming, right?” Jordan’s words brought Dan out of his half-doze.

“Yeah. Said to wait here.”

Jordan gave Dan another concerned look, but Dan just let himself doze again. He was too tired to keep himself awake, now that they’d stopped moving.

Excited murmurs turned into a fever pitch, and Dan opened his eyes to see a woman who had to be the Queen--Wiishu?--riding towards them with her guard.

“Lord Howell, Lord Maron,” she said cordially.

Dan dipped his head. “Your Majesty.”

She frowned slightly, but all she said was, “Let’s get you settled.”

As they followed, and her guard closed around them to keep the crowd from getting too close, Jordan spoke with Wiishu quietly and quickly. They sent a few glances Dan’s way, as he put attention into staying upright in the saddle instead of falling off to sleep in the road, but didn’t say anything to him directly.

That didn’t stop him from getting attention from the local people--wide eyes and amazed expressions stared at him, so very much like the looks so many had given him when he’d stepped into the Realms for the first time.

Oh, how he wished he had PJ with him.

“Lord Howell, do you know if the... object you’re seeking is close?” Wiishu asked.

Dan nodded. “It’s in the city walls. Hasn’t moved in a while.”

“Good.” She nodded decisively. “In the morning, we’ll help you find it.”

Dan briefly considered arguing. He was so close, after all.

But he was too tired. He needed actual rest, or he might actually lose grip on the magic keeping PJ alive.

So he just nodded.

Oddly enough, PJ’s medallion was even closer the closer they got to the palace.

And then, Dan realized.

It  _ was _ in the palace.

He had no doubt neither Jack nor Wiishu were responsible for this. If they wanted to cut ties with the Realms, all they would have had to do was talk to Wade.

No, this was someone trying deliberately to cause trouble.

Well, Dan decided as they were led inside, if they wanted trouble,  _ they were going to get it. _


	23. A Dragon's Discernment

The morning came far too soon for Dan’s taste—then again it usually did—and as much as he wanted to chase down the person who’d taken PJ’s medallion, he might have a problem with that.

Namely that he had literally no authority here.

Ideally, either Jack or Wiishu would be helping him out here, but so far, he hadn’t seen either one of them today.

Though, he admitted grudgingly, it was still early here. The sun had barely come up, lighting the rooms Dan was in with dazzling greens and blues from the stained glass edging the windows and bright rainbows from the shaped glass prisms set between the panes. Clearly, these rooms were meant for visiting nobility.

They just reminded Dan of Phil’s bedroom—back when it had still had plants climbing things and crystals and glass pieces hanging from wire to send light dancing along the walls and the floor-to-ceiling windows that lent the room a wonderfully warm feeling when the sun shone through.

Back before Dan had had to decide what to do with it all, after Phil’s funeral.

Dil had been wanting to turn the room into a bit of an indoor greenhouse the last Dan heard, almost a year ago, as a sort of memorial for Phil. It wasn’t like he could do anything to Phil’s tomb, after Dan had forbidden any kind of care.

Dan sighed, only to realize he was fiddling with his necklace. Well, the chain he carried his wedding ring on. He’d had to remove it once he married Amanda and got a new one—fittingly black, as was customary for two widowed people—but he hadn’t wanted to get rid of it.

Maybe he should. It was just a physical reminder of what Dan had lost.

…and a reminder of all he’d loved so much.

Dan turned the ring over in his fingers again before returning it back to his place under his shirt.

A knock on the door and a conversation with one of the staff later, Dan was on his way to an area of the castle he’d never been to before--of course, he hadn’t been to most of the castle, but that was besides the point.

“Good morning, your highness,” he greeted, bowing.

Amy smiled broadly at him. “Good morning, your lordship.”

“Say hello, Rose,” said Ethan, waving a toddler’s hand at Dan.

Cute.

“How’s it been here?” Dan asked, taking a seat in one of the available chairs.

Amy shrugged. “I wish I didn’t have to be here, but...” She sighed. “I miss Mark. And I wish we got to talk more often.”

Dan frowned. “How long has it been since you got to talk to him?”

“It’s been almost two months since we managed to talk.” Amy shook her head. “I’m worried for him.”

Ethan frowned, but kept his eyes on Rose, quietly playing with her. Then, before Dan could say anything, “He’ll last for a while yet.”

“I know, I know, it’s just...” Amy sighed again, then turned back to Dan. “I heard you were here on less than exciting reasons.”

“I’m trying to find the people who took PJ’s medallion.”

Ethan looked up at that, frown deepening. For a few seconds, he seemed older than the mid-20s he looked--much older.

“...I don’t know what good revenge will do here, Lord Howell,” Amy said slowly.

“He’s not dead yet. I’m still trying to save him.”

Ethan blinked, then squinted at Dan, as if looking deep inside him. Then his eyebrows scrunched, and he set Rose to the side, where she sat and stared at him curiously. He stood.

“Lord Howell, can we have a moment? Just the two of us.”

Dan squinted at him, but slowly stood with a nod. “I... suppose so?”

Ethan led him to the corner of the room, then gave him a concerned look.

“When did you start using necromancy? Who taught you?”

Dan blinked and then frowned. “Nobody taught me. It happened, by accident, when PJ and I were traveling to Dius.” He scrunched his eyebrows together and crossed his arms, like the action would somehow defend against the sudden electrical feel in the air—a feel Dan knew from Cry being on edge. “How did you know?”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “I’m a dragon. Magic is what I do.”

Dan raised an eyebrow in return. “That’s not an answer.”

Ethan ran a hand through his hair, face scrunching slightly. “Different uses of magic leave marks on the people who do it, and looks differently. Uh… Have you seen the Realms’ magic?”

“I’ve heard it.”

This time, both Ethan’s eyebrows went up. “I’ve never heard anyone  _ hear _ it before.” He started to look thoughtful, and a bit absent. “I wonder if that means all magic can show itself in any way, and it does so in different ways in neighboring kingdoms because it helps further the distinction between the two.”

Dan squinted at him. “What?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ethan waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, to answer your question, necromancy leaves a very distinct mark on people. You said it was an accident?”

Dan nodded, and, when prompted, told the story of what had happened. It didn’t take long at all, and left Ethan squinting at him.

“Huh.”

Dan burrowed deeper into his crossed arms. “’Huh’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the only way accidental necromancy happens is if you have a natural inclination for it.” He tilted his head. “Most of the time that ends up with a  _ child _ raising the dead while their magic is expressing itself for the first time—and they don’t usually have the magic reserves needed to go through with it. And since it’s blood magic…”

Dan blinked, then blinked again and uncrossed his arms. “Children die when they have a necromantic inclination?”

“Usually, yeah.” Ethan frowned, giving Dan an appraising look. “That’s why I was so surprised. When it shows up after like fourteen or fifteen, it usually means someone’s deliberately learning it. Which is very dangerous and also possibly unethical—you know what let’s not get into the ethical debate of necromancy right now.” Ethan shook his head. “I’m just wondering why nobody found it when you went through tests.”

“The only magic tests I’ve ever gone through was when Avalier was seeing which of their nobles had magic compatible with the Realms.” Dan shook his head. “Everything else has just sort of happened.”

“Your magic showed up before they do tests there for it?”

Dan shrugged, then nodded. “Yeah. I was like four? One of my friends had gotten hurt falling off a low-hanging branch and I wanted to help.”

“So you just… healed them?”

“Yeah? I mean, one of the older kids playing with us started humming to calm her down while someone ran for an adult, but…” Dan frowned. “I could hear Louise’s song, and a different humming told me how to… wrap it with harmonies until the off-key notes fell into place? I don’t know, I might have imagined that part, being four and all.”

Ethan stared at him, then blinked and shifted his shoulders, as if shrugging a cloak off.

Instantly, a  _ very _ powerful song started emanating from him: part of it easily recognizable as the piano and flute magic Dan always associated with the Realms, and part the steady drums and guitar that had always surrounded Mark—the magic of the Land of the Squirrels.

It was also part something  _ else, _ something Dan had never heard before. It was an old song, something that had been playing for longer than Ethan had been alive, likely longer than even Gar or Bluescale had been alive.

It was equally terrifying and awe-inducing.

Ethan shrugged one shoulder, and the song disappeared.

Dan blinked, then shook his head.

_ “That was your magic?!” _

Ethan nodded.

“How-“ Dan shook his head. “I wasn’t even listening to magic right then, how-  _ how strong is it I heard it anyway?!” _

“I’m a dragon.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

Ethan sighed and shrugged. “You’re exceptionally powerful for a human. I’m honestly surprised you haven’t had more magical accidents, at least of the necromantic type. You’re just… leaking magic everywhere, almost.”

“That-“ Dan shook his head. “That’s not possible. Avalier gave me away because I didn’t have particularly strong magic.” At least, there was no way they would have just handed him to the Realms if he had that strong of magic.

“Yes, well, magic is like a muscle in that the more you use it, the stronger it gets and the longer you can use it for. If what I’m seeing in you is any indication, you used it quite a lot in the Suzerain War.” Ethan pursed his lips. “Both of your natural skill sets.”

Dan blinked. “That’s also not possible. I didn’t know I  _ could _ do necromancy until a month and a half ago.”

“Yes, well, when the strongest healers can bring someone back from the dead if they’ve just crossed over, maybe you just didn’t realize what part of your magic you were using.”

“I didn’t-“

_ Zombie carrying him, saying Phil was in the ground. _

Dan froze. “I-“

_ Being placed next to a cold body, a cold hand wearing Phil’s signet ring. _

“I couldn’t have?”

_ Singing until he heard Phil’s song again. _

“PJ was- PJ was alive, though?”

Dan’s eyes widened and he subconsciously reached backwards before crashing into a sitting position on the floor, getting a startled “Woah!” from Ethan and hands cautiously touching his shoulders.

“I-“

_ Phil being stronger when he was around Dan and weaker after Dan returned from a battle. _

“But-“

_ Phil dying after both Dan and PJ were gone for a fortnight to escort Molly and company, almost like he’d been dependent on Dan to keep him alive—or Dan’s magic. _

Dan looked up, aware he was shaking ever-so-slightly. “How?”

Ethan shrugged, though he kept looking at Dan with concern.

“I-“ Dan stared at the ground. “How- How many times did I do it without realizing?”

“Probably not more than once, maybe twice. Necromancy is a massively draining use of magic. It would have completely exhausted you to do that, and people would have started to take notice. Why, do you think you did it more than once?”

“I-“ Dan blinked. “Phil. Phil, he- he  _ died _ in the war. I knew it then, I knew, but I-“

“You brought him back.” Ethan raised his eyebrows. “And kept him alive for eight years. That’s quite impressive, Lord Howell. I’ve never heard of even a dragon doing a feat like that.”

Dan buried his face in his hands, fighting the urge to just start screaming. It would have been productive, that was for sure, and he would have released a lot of stress at this sudden realization, but he also didn’t want to attract too much attention to himself.

_ PJ. _

Dan looked up.

Ethan tilted his head. “Yes, Lord Howell?”

“PJ- he- is this how I’m keeping him alive?”

“It might be.” Ethan made a so-so gesture. “If you’re using your healing magic to heal the damage his own magic is doing to him, and necromancy to put distinct distance between him and death… yeah. Yeah, it very well could be.” He squinted at Dan. “How long have you been doing it now?”

“A… a month.”

“A month… straight?”

Dan nodded shakily.

Ethan gave a low whistle.

“Why?”

“Because you look about as well as I’d expect someone who’d been maintaining magic for a month straight to look.”

Dan winced. “That bad, huh?”

“It…” Ethan sighed. “I don’t know how his medallion will react to you. I really don’t—it was never something I was really interested in learning about, despite Blackscale being willing to teach me. I mean, I can ask? But… if you’re not careful, trying to save your Protector’s life could kill you.”

Dan nodded grimly. “I know.”

Ethan made a face, but offered Dan a hand.

Dan took it, and Ethan hauled Dan to his feet—easily, like Dan wasn’t significantly taller than he was.

Dragons were scary.

Someone cleared their throat, and Dan and Ethan looked over to see someone he didn’t recognize standing near the entrance to the room.

“Lord Howell, King McLoughlin has requested your presence.”


	24. King McLoughlin

The rooms occupied by the Bossatronian royal family were a stark difference from the bustling and liveliness of the city, and even of the castle itself.   
  
It felt, distinctly, of unwellness—enough so that Dan had to suppress the urge to ask who needed healing. It wasn’t the feeling of illness that hung in the air, though. No, whoever this was emanating from wasn’t ill. They just weren’t in good health. Exhausted, perhaps, though Dan knew what that felt   
like from past experience.   
  
Was one of Jack’s two children not doing well? It would be awful, but it wasn’t terribly unusual for children to do poorly in the wet seasons of the year (though, some part of Dan pointed out, Bossatron was drier than the Realms were).   
  
“Please, wait here,” said the person who’d fetched Dan. Then, before Dan could do more than sit, they walked up to one of the doors (based on the number of doors, this was a family apartment—which was interesting; there couldn’t be too many of those in the castle) and knocked on it. “Lord Howell is here, your majesty.”   
  
And then they excused themselves, closing the hall door behind them.   
  
Dan looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, a bit curious at the behavior, before turning back around to see the door opening.   
  
Out stepped Jack: ragged and exhausted, halfway unkempt, and a bit unsteady on his feet.   
  
Instantly, Dan’s eyes widened, and he halfway took a step forward as Jack wobbled before leaning on the door handle.   
  
“Are you alright?” Dan asked, even though the answer was very obviously ‘no.’   
  
Jack laughed, but the sound held none of the joy and delight Dan was accustomed from hearing from the king. Granted, some of that was bound to be because kingdoms weighed heavily on people (Jack had more than a little gray in his hair and beard, he couldn’t help but notice), but… not all of this.   
  
“No. I’m not.”   
  
Dan frowned. “Do you mind if I ask what’s wrong? And if it has anything to do with why you called me here?”   
  
Jack shrugged and let go of the handle, pitching forward until he caught himself on a nearby table. It was almost like he wasn’t in full control of his limbs, now that Dan really looked. “I’ll tell you, don’t worry. Just gotta-“ He broke off, closing his eyes and wobbling a bit more. “Gotta sit down.”   
  
Dan stepped forward and offered Jack his arm, which the shaking royal took. The two slowly made their way to the closest chair, where Dan carefully deposited Jack before sitting on the nearby couch.   
  
Jack sat there for a minute, chest heaving, before he looked at Dan.   
  
“What did Wade tell you of what happened when he was here?”   
  
“A decade ago?” Dan shook his head. “Not much.”   
  
Jack let himself sprawl and slouch in the chair before blowing his hair out of his face with an annoyed puff of air. “The night the throne fell to me, I was possessed by a demon.”   
  
Dan blinked, and then leaned forward to more closely examine Jack. “Uh.”   
  
“Don’t worry, I’m still me, at least-“ Jack winced. “At least for now, anyway.” He painstakingly leaned forward to the point where Dan was worried he’d fall out of his chair. “Tell me, Lord Howell, what do you know of demons and possessions? Is there any way to end it? Or should I get out before I lose this fight?”   
  
“I only know how to kill demons,” Dan said slowly. “But… there is someone who knows a lot about them back home. Are you okay with me contacting him and asking him about this?”   
  
Jack frowned. “Who?”   
  
“The Queen’s Protector.”   
  
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Rumor has it he’s the Demon Prince. Or at least, her first one was.”   
  
“That’s the one.”   
  
Something transparent green and black seemed to flicker outside of Jack for a split-second, almost like a face sitting on a slit throat.   
  
Jack visibly flinched, falling back in his seat—where he proceeded to shake violently.   
  
Dan frowned again, already sending his magic towards the north part of the Seventh Realm. He had no idea how he was going to find Gar, but he needed to know these things. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to have the King of Bossatronia being controlled by a demon.   
  
Oh, he was going to need an early bedtime. Already, he was reaching the limits of the magic he could use. (Granted, most of it was stretching a month’s away to PJ and keeping him alive.)   
  
His magic encountered not Gar, and not Molly, but something that felt like a wall.   
  
So Dan knocked.   
  
Figuratively, of course, since there were hundreds of miles between him and this wall, but still.   
  
And, to his surprise, he got an answer.   
  
\-----   
  
The air was comfortably cool as rain pittered on the windows and low thunder rumbled, but Gar leaned his forehead on the window to feel the distinct chill of the outside. It was spring, yes, but it was still the Seventh Realm—it would be distinctly chilly until summer came.   
  
How ironic: the warm time of the year, the time JP loved the most, was the time he was always gone to the summer meetings.   
  
The summer meetings. It would be strange not being a part of them this year. It would be the first time Wade would have attended one without Molly in… a decade? Had it really been over a decade since Molly’s introduction to the nobility?   
  
And how long had it been since he’d seen Tapestry?   
  
Gar blinked and pulled his head from the window. Where had that thought come from? He hadn’t thought about Tapestry for decades. Snow was the one who’d handled that.   
  
_ “Oh, good.” _ Snow sounded pleased with himself.  _ “I was wondering when I’d start making progress.” _ __   
__   
_ “Progress?” _ __   
  
_ “That memory I’ve been trying to tease out for a month now? Yeah, that’s the start of it. It’s a lot more complicated than I thought it would be.” _ __   
__   
_ “…should I even ask how you’re doing this.” _ __   
__   
_ “I’m whispering things to your mind until something clicks and then I continue to try and work with it.” _ __   
__   
_ “That’s creepy.” _ __   
__   
_ “At your service.” _   
  
Gar shook his head and went to put his forehead back on the window, only for footsteps to approach him. It wasn’t Molly, since she was still asleep in her room, and neither of the twins were anywhere near old enough to walk yet, so it wasn’t them.   
  
Gar turned slightly so he could hear them better. Whoever ‘them’ was.   
  
“Gar, there’s someone who needs to speak with you at the pools.” Grayscale sounded tired—but then again, all of the Guardians were starting to sound constantly tired these days. They did every year around now. That was the biggest reason trainees went home to their families for a month—the kids got to see their families, the Guardians got rest, and, historically, Gar got to practice the most dangerous parts of his magic. (After all, the five years he’d spent here before, he’d not had anyone to go home to for that month—and he was supposed to be laying low because he was supposed to be dead.)   
  
“Oh?”   
  
“Just go. Don’t bother getting fully dressed, just- it’s important.”   
  
Gar stood off his bed and grabbed his staff in one smooth motion. A snuffle came from the makeshift dog bed at the foot of his bed, but Beatrice didn’t bark to let him know she was following, so she was likely still asleep.   
  
It was, after all, still several hours before sunrise.   
  
If anyone saw Gar walking from the sleeping house to the pools, wearing pants and boots and blindfold but no shirt, they didn’t say anything. Granted, him having his staff slung over his shoulder as he walked probably just added to the image.   
  
When the ground underfoot changed from the slightly-overgrown cobblestone and ground cover (Greenscale changed what it was every month or so, just because it let them grow things) to gravel and the walking path, Gar moved his staff to an actual usable position.   
  
_ “Gar?” _ Snow asked sleepily.  _ “What are you doing?” _   
  
Gar chose not to answer, instead carefully feeling his way around the path.   
  
_ “It’s the middle of the night, Gar.” _ A pause. _ “Well, okay, it’s like halfway to dawn—but that doesn’t change anything.” _ Snow seemed to yawn a bit, as much as he could without a body.  _ “Why are you awake and walking around?” _ __   
__   
__ “You’ll see.”   
  
Snow grumbled something that Gar didn’t bother paying attention to, filling their bond with sleepy disgruntlement.   
  
Finally, though, Gar knelt down at the edge of one of the pools and put his hand in, sending his magic searching outside the protection spells to figure out what Grayscale was talking about.   
  
“Good morning, Gar,” Dan said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”   
  
“No worries.” Gar sat. “What do you need?”   
  
“Is there a way to force a demon to stop possessing someone?”   
  
“Hypothetically, but none of them are easy.” Gar frowned. “Why? Are there still demons roaming around?”   
  
“No, no, this-“ Dan sighed. “I reached Bossatron yesterday.”   
  
“…oh. I see.”   
  
“Do you know any way to get this specific demon out of Jack?”   
  
Gar sighed, closing his eyes under his blindfold. “I’m afraid most of the traditional methods won’t work on him. He was chosen because he either gets control or the person dies fending him off.”   
  
“That’s not acceptable.”   
  
“I know. I know. Just- let me think.” Gar scrunched up his face.   
  
“Dragons could do it,” Snow suggested.   
  
Dan yelped. “Who-“   
  
“You heard me? Delightful.” Snow seemed genuinely fascinated with that. “That hasn’t happened before.”   
  
“Dan, this is Snow. My Protector. He’s… trapped inside my body right now.”   
  
Dan let out a long breath and several incoherent grumbles. Then, “What do you mean, dragons?”   
  
“Dragons are the counter to demons,” Gar said simply. “They can undo just about everything a demon does, within reason. They can’t undo something several demons do as a team. Why, do you know who the dragon is there?”   
  
“The dragon?”   
  
“Every kingdom has at least one.”   
  
Snow hummed. “There should be two in Bossatron now.”   
  
“How do you know that?” Dan asked.   
  
“I went over one night and found the resident dragon discussing dragon things with someone else. The way they responded meant they were a dragon.”   
  
“Huh. Does that mean you know who the resident dragon is, whatever that means?”   
  
“Resident dragons are the ones directly bound to the magic of the kingdom. They’re the ones who do the most of the heavy lifting—it’s why they’re stuck in human forms, because the magic is draining so much of their magic that they can’t change back. At least not unless it’s an absolute emergency.”   
  
“That’s interesting.”   
  
“Anyway, no. I don’t know. I was never privy to that information. I didn’t even know who the dragons were here until a few decades ago.”   
  
“How do I find out?”   
  
“Well… Ethan is there, right?”   
  
“…Yeah?”   
  
“He’ll be able to identify any other dragons by sight alone. He won’t be able to exorcise the Entertainer himself, not being trapped in a human form, but if he gets help… I think he can do it.”   
  
Dan let out a long sigh. “Okay.”   
  
“…should I ask about PJ’s medallion?”   
  
“No.”   
  
Gar winced at the bluntness of it all. “Okay. Good luck with the demon.”   
  
“Thank you.”   



	25. Dragons

Dan turned his attention back to Jack, only to find him watching quietly, eyes more serious and tired than Dan had known possible.

“Well?” Jack asked softly. “Can you help?”

Dan took a deep breath, and slowly nodded. Ethan. He had to get Ethan so he could find the other dragons here so they could un-possess Jack. “I can try.”

Jack nodded, a small bit of relief creeping across his face. “I appreciate it.” He rubbed his temple. “In the meantime, I’ll see if anyone can discreetly locate this thief of yours.”

Dan dipped his head. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Jack’s head dropped back against the chair. “Close the door on your way out, if you would.”

“Of course.” Dan stood.

\-----

It wasn’t at all a difficult matter to find Ethan, since he was still in the same room Dan had left him in. Finding a way to broach the subject, though, gave Dan much more trouble. Should he just go up and ask? Should he be more diplomatic about it? Should he try to hint at it until Ethan asked him what he was blathering on about?

Dan quietly cursed. Phil would have known what to do—or, he would have hesitated enough to magically make Dan know what to do. But he wasn’t here. PJ would have advice to offer, even if he didn’t tell Dan what to do, but he wasn’t here either. Jordan could probably give Dan advice, but Dan was fairly certain this was something he wasn’t supposed to go just telling people—dragons and demons held nothing but mystery and rumor for the average person, and it wasn’t his to talk about.

Besides, Jordan was still sometimes trying to wrap his head around the whole concept of Protectors. Who knew how he’d react if he learned about dragons—friendly ones, at least, and not the rogue one terrorizing the Land of the Squirrels.

As it turned out, Dan didn’t need to worry about it.

“That was a fast talk,” Ethan said. “Everything okay?”

“Can I show you something?”

Ethan squinted at Dan, but slowly nodded. “As long as you’re not trying to kill me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you at all. I just don’t know how to explain something and figured showing you would be easier.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, but gestured for Dan to lead the way.

Once Dan had Ethan in the room with Jack, Ethan gave Dan a curious look. Dan just gestured at Jack, who was awake and watching them, but didn’t seem terribly concerned about what was going on.

Ethan opened his mouth to say something, then narrowed his eyes at Jack and just stared at him for a minute.

“That bad, huh?” Jack asked, closing his eyes for a moment.

“It’s pretty bad,” Ethan admitted. He bounced on the balls of his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. “Not undoable, though.”

Jack opened his eyes, gaze snapping to Ethan. “Oh?”

Ethan nodded. “I’ll need help, and time to prepare, but I think we can get that demon out of you without hurting you too much. Definitely without killing you.”

“What would we do with it then?”

Ethan smiled a very nasty smile. “Kill it.”

“That seems smart.”

Ethan nodded.

Jack dropped his head against the back of his chair again. “I’ll wait here, then. Whenever you’re ready, let me know.”

Ethan pulled Dan aside a bit, frowning. “Can you stay here with him? I’m honestly concerned how much longer he’ll last.”

“Should I try to heal him?”

“Not unless you have to, Lord Expending-all-his-energy-on-a-month-long-spell.” Ethan took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “Just keep an eye on him.”

Dan nodded.

With that, Ethan was off.

\-----

“Are you sure you want to go?” Bluescale asked.

“Yes,” Blackscale said.

Gar raised his head from where he was still sitting by the pools, waiting in case Dan tried to contact him again.

It had stopped raining in the few minutes since Dan had withdrawn his magic, but it wasn’t unreasonable to assume it would start again. The real question, though, was why the two sibling Guardians were out walking at this time of night. Weren’t they both supposed to be sleeping?

“It’s dangerous to leave for too long.”

“I’ll be okay. It’s not that far, sis.” Blackscale soothed. “I promise, if I start feeling any of the signs, I’ll come back over the border until I’m recovered.”

“I just- I don’t want to lose you too.”

“You won’t. I’ll be back within a month, and it’s only the next kingdom over. It’s about time to visit those nephews of mine, in any case.”

“I-” Bluescale sighed. “I know, I know, but... just keep in touch, okay?”

“I will.” The briefest of pauses, and the faint sound of their boots squelching in the mud stopped. “The next set of medallions are done. I don’t think I’m done with all of them, since the magic hasn’t given me that signal yet, but it’ll last through the end of summer, at the very least.”

“And if something happens to you?”

“You’ll survive. Some Protectors will get differently colored medallions.” A pause. “I do have all the royal medallions complete, though. All five.”

Bluescale hmm-ed. “The real question is if the Queen’s Protector will tell her that.”

“The other three are likely to be spread over a much longer point in time, you know.”

Gar ducked his head and placed his hands on his staff, running his fingers over the carefully carved wood. It was ironwood, he’d been told, but he had no idea how Blackscale had gotten their hands on it to make Gar a staff out of it. The metal bands around the ends would have been easy enough to add on for the dragon, but ironwood--that didn’t grow anywhere in the Realms. Or at least, it hadn’t when Gar had made his most recent Realms-wide trip a few decades ago.

Footsteps approached him, and Gar tilted his head towards the sound.

“Gar,” Blackscale said by way of greeting.

“Blackscale.”

“You doing okay over here? Sitting in the rain? By yourself?”

Gar smiled despite himself. “I’m not ever by myself anymore.”

_ “Is this my cue to do something?” _ Snow asked, still sounding half asleep.

_ “No.” _

_ “Good.” _ The word was accompanied by the distinct feeling of Snow shifting, almost like he’d gone and turned over to back to sleep.

It was a little nauseating, if he was being honest with himself. Snow didn’t move all that much, at least not that far from the general movements Gar made.

“Should I ask what you’re doing here?”

“I’m keeping an eye on the pools--figuratively, at least--in case Lord Howell has more questions on demons.”

Blackscaled  _ hmm _ -ed. “King McLoughlin?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to see if I can help with that when I get there.”

Gar paused, then plowed ahead. “I was meaning to ask about that--you can leave?”

“All of us can, except Blue. She’s a good sport about it.” Blackscale let out a long sigh. “We can’t be gone for too long, which limits how far we can go, but it is nice.”

“Interesting.”

Blackscale laughed softly. “If you say so.” A pause. “Take care, Gar.”

“You too, Blackscale.”

\-----

Jack had fallen into a fitful silence quite some time ago. Dan would say he was asleep, except for the distinct lack of rest the other man was experiencing.

Ethan knew who the dragons were here, he knew, but he was a bit nervous at the prospect of seeing them. Dragons were, by nature, more secretive, and the ones here might not like the idea of Dan knowing who they are.

What did the dragons even do here? Bossatron didn’t have any Protectors, that was a Realms thing. Surely they helped keep the magic steady, like they did in the Realms, but... was that it? Did they do something he didn’t know about? It was certainly possible.

And the dragon bound to the magic here was... someone he felt like he should at least know about. Ethan certainly didn’t seem threatened by them, so that was a good sign.

(For some reason, a part of his mind pointed out when he’d found out Ethan was a dragon. That had been a shock, and had sent Phil talking about it for hours that night in the Third Realm quarters in Primus.)

The Third Realm quarters.

This year, if he even got back in time to go to the summer meetings, he wouldn’t  _ be _ in the Third Realm quarters. He was no longer a Third Realm noble. And he’d been inside the Fourth Realm quarters before, yeah, but only to visit.

Not to sleep in them for a month.

Dan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The chances of him going, were, admittedly, low, especially with PJ’s current state of health. He still wanted to, though, if just so he could see his friends.

A knock on the door interrupted Dan’s thoughts, and he looked up in time to see Ethan slipping through the partially-opened door.

Following him was Robin.


	26. The Entertainer

“Good morning, Lord Howell,” Robin said by way of greeting, though his gaze didn’t leave Jack.

“You see it?” Ethan asked.

Robin nodded. “Yeah. Wish I’d bothered looking earlier. Could have had this whole thing resolved years ago.”

Jack opened his eyes and scrunched his eyebrows. “Robin?”

Robin clasped his hands behind his back. “Surprise. I’m a dragon. Ethan’s brother, if you want to be exact.”

Jack’s eyebrows scrunched more. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I mean, if you didn’t notice me not really aging the past decade, I don’t know how to tell you I’m not human.” Robin spread his hands. “It was getting close to the point where I’d have to leave for a while, though.”

“Why? Don’t go.”

“I’ll have to.” Robin walked over as he spoke, Ethan trailing not more than a few steps behind. “People are starting to notice I’m not aging. That kind of thing raises questions. The last thing any of us need is someone deciding to stab me when I’m not looking to see if I’m completely immortal--a god in disguise or something.”

“You... can’t kill gods like that, can you?”

“Gods are pretty easy to kill,” Ethan said. “That’s why they don’t show up to people so much.”

“I’m pretty sure the Gar fellow you were talking about has met a few,” Robin said.

“Yes, well, he’s a rather special case.”

Jack just looked back and forth between Ethan and Robin, then gave Dan a helpless look.

Dan shrugged in return.

Gar? Meeting deity? It wasn’t impossible, he supposed. The guy was old enough. And that wouldn’t exactly be the kind of thing you’d just talk about.

“Anyway,” Robin said, stopping in front of Jack, “let’s get this demon out of you.”

“Please,” Jack said.

“Do you need anything for it?” Dan asked.

Both Ethan and Robin shook their heads.

“Nah,” Ethan said. “We’ve both done this before. It’ll be rough, but we’ll manage as is.”

“I don’t suppose you happen to have an enchanted sword on you, though.” Robin raised an eyebrow.

Dan shook his head. Swords weren’t really his style, though he’d used plenty over the years. “Enchanted daggers, yes, but a sword no.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “That’s letting a demon get rather close, now isn’t it.”

“I’m not faster than demons in the first place, your majesty.” Dan gave a little mocking tip of his head. “I’m too gangly for that. I might as well use what I’m most comfortable with.”

“Well,” Robin said, “just in case, have them ready. We might need help with the actual killing of the demon, depending on how much of a fight it puts up.”

Dan nodded, drawing his dual daggers from their place on his belt.

“Lock the doors, would you? We don’t really want someone walking in on this,” Ethan said.

Dan once again complied, jamming a spare chair under the handles for extra blocking power. When he turned back, Robin was holding Jack in his arms and Ethan clearing things off the table in the middle of the room.

Dan raised his eyebrows, but walked back over.

Dan hadn’t fully realized how weak Jack must have been, how much fighting the demon possessing him must have cost him, until that moment. Jack was completely limp in Robin’s arms, head resting on his shoulder, eyes half closed, breathing shallowly and still trembling slightly.

Ethan put a cushion under Jack’s head as Robin set him on the table. The two carefully moved Jack into a more comfortable position.

Robin knelt on the far side of the table, and Ethan stood on the close side. The two looked at each other for a moment, then nodded.

They took a deep breath, and something settled in the room.

On impulse, Dan listened to the magic.

The magic of Bossatron was loud: it was loud, it was drums, it was the hissing of the new steam machines that were starting to make their way through the kingdom, it was the clank of gears and metal on metal and water bubbling.

The magic of the dragons was still absolutely terrifying, absolutely complex.

Jack’s magic was very similar to that of Bossatron, but it was struggling: quiet and wobbly, off pace from the Bossatron magic.

And then there was what had to be the demon: discordant chords and skipped and sour notes, no predictable pattern, and favoring the high-pitched end of things.

This was going to give him a headache.

Robin leaned forward and put one hand on Jack’s chest and the other on his forehead, and Ethan leaned over and put his hands on Jack’s.

And then the dragons’ song united into one, and then it grew louder and louder and more and more powerful, until the only thing Dan could hear was the painful mash of ancient song and the song of steam.

Jack’s chest began to heave, and his body jerked once, twice, and nearly kneed Ethan in the face the third time. 

Ethan just straddled Jack’s legs, pinning him to the table, while keeping his gaze fixed on Jack.

Robin was saying something, but Dan couldn’t hear what, not over the sound of magic.

The pressure kept building in Dan’s ears, and he was just about convinced they were going to start to bleed, when everything screeched to a halt.

Jack screamed, and Dan blanched, as black started to accumulate in Jack’s mouth, his eyes, leaking from his nose and ears... and then it dripped off him and onto the rug.

And there, there it started to take a form.

The music of magic began again, but this time it was accompanied by a dreadful ringing in Dan’s ears.

The shadows grew, and grew, until Jack abruptly stopped screaming and dropped limply onto the table, and Ethan and Robin swayed, then crumpled themselves.

And Dan, Dan was left facing the demon who’d possessed Jack for so long, with the ringing overpowering all other sound.

The Entertainer was in his true demon form.

The black ooze shifted and almost seemed to pulse, but remained humanoid in shape. A grin full of sharp teeth and wings made of sharp, shadowy feathers leered down at Dan--the Entertainer was a good two or three feet taller than Dan.

And then the Entertainer blinked once, and when his eyes opened, they all opened. Not just the ones in his regular place on his face, green and corrosive, but ones all over the horrific form--on arms, on hands, on torso, legs, even some on the wings. All different colors, no two quite the same.

All staring at Dan.

The Entertainer grinned, and spread his arms and the talon-like fingers wide. “Like what you see?”

Dan shook his head, stepping so he was ready for any attack, his daggers and arms blocking his body. “No.”

The Entertainer laughed, sending Dan’s ears ringing with such a high pitch the world almost swayed and crumpled. “Honesty. How delightful.”

And then he slashed at Dan.

Dan barely managed to block the attack with his daggers, grunting at the force of the impact. The next slash, he only half-blocked, and the rest of the Entertainer’s claws gouged at Dan’s left arm.

Instantly, involuntarily, Dan’s fingers dropped his dagger.

Dan cursed, ducked under the next attack, and lashed out himself.

His dagger scoured across the Entertainer’s chest, splitting and popping several of the eyes there and splattering Dan with a thick, dark substance.

The Entertainer screamed.

It was easily clear to Dan that he wasn’t going to last long. He was already badly hurt--gods, could he even move the fingers on his left hand?--and didn’t have the extra distance a sword provided to keep the Entertainer at bay.

Jack had been right about that after all.

The Entertainer slowly but surely drove Dan into the corner of the room, landing more blows than he received.

Dan leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. His entire body was stinging, and he wasn’t sure what was injury and what was a sympathetic response to the part of him that was actually injured.

“Tired already?” the Entertainer crooned, the pitch sending Dan’s head spinning all over again. “But the fun’s just begun.”

Dan slowly sank down the wall, holding his injured arm close and wrapping his right hand tighter around his remaining dagger. He just had to keep the Entertainer distracted for as long as he could. Maybe help would come. Maybe Ethan or Robin or Jack would wake up. Maybe they would all end up dead here, and the Entertainer would go on to terrorize the kingdom and possibly bring about its downfall unless someone managed to stop him.

He wasn’t going to get out of this alive, though. That much was apparent.

How ironic, that Dan was going to die here, and PJ would die a month away, and Amanda would lose a second husband, when all he wanted was a normal life.

As if that was even possible for him now.

“Aw,” the Entertainer said, wrapping his fingers around Dan’s torso surprisingly gently and hefting him as if he weighed nothing, “but we’re not done yet. We have unfinished business.”

“Let go of me,” Dan wheezed, spots dancing in his vision at the added pressure on the brand new claw marks decorating his body.

“If you insist.” 

The Entertainer shrugged and threw Dan into the wall.

Dan slammed into the stonework hard enough that he actually heard the slight grating of stone on stone, and then he dropped to the ground with fire spreading not only in his hip and on his legs, but across his shoulder blades and back as well.

Well, at least that meant his nerves were working.

“Stop looking for the medallion, Lord Howell,” the Entertainer said, drawing himself up to his full height to loom over Dan. “Your Protector is already dead. Besides, I need it to start a war.”

Dan couldn’t help it.

He laughed.

“We can do this the fun way,” the Entertainer said, before stepping forward and crouching next to Dan.

He wiggled one talon, almost as if trying to lure Dan forward, before beginning to dig it slowly into Dan’s leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I did indeed draw Anti for this, like I wanted. This'll take you to the post.](https://trulymightypotato.tumblr.com/post/172389151325/i-drew-anti-for-my-fantasy-au-hes-nine-feet)


	27. The "Permanency" of Death

Blackscale tucked their wings and dove, letting gravity speed them up, then spread them once again before they hit the water of the lake near Bossatronia. It was risky, flying over such open space, but flying was difficult, and the gentle spray of water doing this kicked up was vastly refreshing.

Besides, people knew dragons existed. Mostly, they were afraid of them, calling them monsters and thieves (which reminded Blackscale, they needed to talk with Greenscale about their habit of taking sheep and cows whenever they flew into the southern half of the Realms), but as long as nobody tried to kill them, it would be fine.

Not that they would succeed if they tried.

Blackscale let a claw drag along the water, just for the novelty of it, before pumping their wings and getting their elevation back.

There. There was Bossatronia. It’d only be a few minutes more, now that Blackscale was refreshed from the lake.

They sent their magic out, trying to reach either of their nephews, but neither responded.

Magic did respond, though. It didn’t say anything, but it clung to Blackscale, almost desperately.

Realms magic. Well, almost. It smacked of Avalier as well.

Lord Dan Howell. What was he doing? How did he know how to find a dragon’s magic?

Blackscale hesitated, then realized. Howell was the one who’d asked Gar about demons.

Demons.

Not good.

Blackscale shoved themselves towards Bossatronia as quickly as they could. Mid-flap, they opened their eyes to the magic, allowing it all to rush over them. It was always strange, looking at it in a different kingdom: the magic presented itself differently than in the Realms, like pieces of well-made machinery, but there was still the barest glimmer of a tapestry underneath it all.

Huh.

The magic hadn’t looked like this a decade ago. Well, it had, a little bit, but there had only been the barest indications that it was starting to change. Normally it took quite a while for that to happen.

Bossatron had been making quite the progress with their steam machines, then, for the magic to react this strongly to it.

Interesting.

Most interesting, though, was the undeniable red-purple color permeating the magic. There. There was the demon, already causing trouble with the magic.

If Blackscale had had lips, they would have curled them.

It was coming from the palace.

\-----

For the past month, PJ had laid unmoving and silent on a borrowed bed in the fortress in Diul. Healers did what they could to help keep him alive, but the longer time went on, the more they gave each other looks wondering when the Protector would die.

None of them were expecting him to scream, or for him to continue screaming, or for him to suddenly jerk as if he’d been struck.

Especially since he didn’t open his eyes once during the event.

It passed abruptly, leaving PJ slumped on the bedsheets, once again completely unresponsive to everything around him.

\-----

Dan took a shuddering breath in the brief respite from pain. Why had the Entertainer stopped?

It took quite a bit of effort, but he lifted his head. The world seemed to wiggle for a moment, and then Dan’s vision focused on the Entertainer looming over Jack and Ethan and Robin.

Odd. He’d left them alone until now.

Jack let out a panicked gasp, and as the Entertainer circled, tried to shove Robin off him.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Well, that was unacceptable.

Dan slowly pushed himself back up the wall, though he continued to lean heavily on it, and gripped his dagger. There was no way he could move fast enough to stop anything from happening, and he was significantly worse at this kind of thing with his right hand than his left, but…

He had to try.

Dan hefted his dagger, and threw it.

Either the gods were smiling on him or he was lucky for once in his life, because he didn’t miss. At least, not entirely.

The dagger buried itself in the Entertainer’s arm, and he screeched, whirling to face Dan once again.

“What do you need a medallion for?” Dan demanded, though he probably didn’t sound nearly as intimidating as he hoped, considering he was starting to sway even leaned up against the wall.

The Entertainer laughed. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He grinned, reminding Dan of the uncomfortably sharp teeth filling his mouth. “It won’t be long now, not long at all.”

As if on cue, the door started rattling, fighting against the chair Dan had propped it closed with.

Jack cursed softly, and while his fingers still scrabbled against Robin, his head dropped back against the cushion Ethan had placed.

They were all going to die.

This had gone about as horribly as it could have gone.

Dan let his head drop against the wall, even as coughs began to shake his body. Once again, he sank down--though this was definitely more of a fall--and did his best to prop himself up against the wall.

The fingers on his left hand, the one that was curled against him and near his face- they were starting to fleck with blood.

This was it, then. Dan was out of weapons, and didn’t know any offensive magic. He couldn’t even scream for help by this point.

So he just closed his eyes and let the tug on him--a tug that felt distinctly like Phil--start pulling him... somewhere. He wasn’t sure.

And then glass crashed, a new voice shouted a pained curse, and then the Entertainer was screeching, screeching, filling Dan’s world with that horrific ringing.

Dan pried his eyes open one last time, only to see the door burst open and the Entertainer slump to the ground. He must have sunk down some more, because he couldn’t see anything but boots storm in and a pair of boots step on broken glass towards them.

A hand reached down and grabbed one of Dan’s daggers off the floor, a terrifyingly calm “That medallion is not yours to take” and a beautiful ringing sound, a glint of gold, and blade on blade.

Dan dipped under the surface of consciousness.

\-----

Dan woke laying on a surface that was far too short for him. A moment and a shift later revealed that not only was Dan in massive amounts of pain, but that he was most definitely on a couch.

“Lord Howell is awake,” someone said before a face popped into view.

“Good,” Wiishu said softly.

Dan groaned and put a hand to his head. Or, at least, he tried. A hand and a gentle reassurance stopped him.

“We were worried for a while there,” that unknown voice said. “You’re very lucky there are good healers here.”

“I-” Dan closed his eyes for a moment to try and focus them, before turning his gaze to the unknown figure. “Who are you?”

The figure, with dark clothes and dark skin but eyes that looked like liquid gold, smiled awkwardly. “Robin and Ethan are my nephews.”

A dragon, then.

Dan paused, then slowly sat up--ow--and looked to where Robin and Ethan were laid out on the floor, then back at the figure. A couple things weren’t adding up here.

“They and my sister take after our mother. I took after our father.”

“Ah.” Reasonable.

Dan looked down at his left arm, which had been bandaged already, and gingerly tried to flex his fingers. They moved, though not without pain. The pain was from his arm, though, and more of a dull pain than anything, so hopefully that would go away as his arm healed.

“Lord Howell,” the figure said.

Dan looked up. “Ye-”

The figure was holding a cloth-wrapped bundle out to him.

“I believe you’ve been looking for this.”

Dan gingerly took it, flinching as the heavy disk was much hotter than expected, even though the cloth.

PJ’s medallion?

He nudged part of the cloth aside until a familiar gold medallion and chain glimmered in the light, and then rewrapped it and clutched it tight. “How did you get this?”

They nodded towards one of the bodies on the floor. “They had it.”

Dan looked at the body, trying to wrap his head around it. There wasn’t anything distinctive about the person--no blood marring their clothes or the floor around them, even. There was, however, a definite charred spot on the front of their shirt.

Dan’s eyes narrowed. Had they been  _ wearing _ PJ’s medallion?

“Did you kill them?”

“Me? No.” The dragon put their hands in their pockets. “The medallion did that.”

Dan blinked. It was hot, that was undeniable, but not hot enough to burn. Just to be uncomfortable.

“It recognizes, you, Lord Howell. Or,” the dragon shrugged, “more accurately, the part of PJ’s magic that’s embedded into it recognizes you. It’s not going to try to hurt you.”

“How do you know all this?”

They smiled hesitantly. “I’m the one who makes the medallions.”

Dan blinked again. He didn’t really want to think about that for the moment. His head hurt enough as it was.

So instead he slowly got to his feet--ow ow ow--and hobbled over to the corpse of the medallion thief. He stared at them for a minute, frowning, before nudging them with his foot. “What did you need a medallion for?” 

“I didn’t get the chance to ask. I strongly suspect it has something to do with the demon there, but he’s dead as well, so you won’t find answers from him either.”

Dan’s jaw set. That was unacceptable. Medallions weren’t just something you got for no reason. They weren’t actually made of gold, though he had no doubt they were worth a lot on an illegal market. No, there had been a reason for PJ’s medallion being taken, and it couldn’t have been good.

“I’m getting answers.”

“Lord Howell-” the dragon sighed. “May we have a moment alone?”

Dan looked to say something, only to see the healers and Wiishu nod and quietly leave the room, closing the door behind them.

“What.”

“You’re in no condition for necromancy, Lord Howell. Your magic is spread thin as it is, and I’m honestly surprised you’re standing right now.”

“Oh, and I suppose you can do it?”

“Who do you think does the heavy lifting when Protectors are called back?” The dragon shook their head. “Before you ask, no, I’m not doing this. I’m very limited in the magic I can do outside of the Realms.”

Dan stiffened. “Then get off my back.”

“Have you ever done necromancy on purpose, or have all previous occurrences been accidents?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

The dragon sighed. “You’re going to get yourself killed if you do that. If you insist on pushing yourself like this, at least let me teach you how to do it correctly.”

Dan paused and looked over, before his hand tightened around PJ’s medallion. He sighed, then nodded.

It wasn’t a long lesson. Blackscale, as Dan learned the dragon’s name was, taught Dan how to set boundaries so the spell wouldn’t drain him of enough energy to kill him and so the undead wouldn’t be able to try to kill him. He was taught how much blood he needed--he only needed a drop of blood for each soul he was raising, and another drop for every minute he intended to keep them around--and that while it had to be his blood to start out with, it was possible to bind souls to objects or to other beings. Doing that would completely drain them of energy, and when that was up the souls would return to the land of the dead, but it was possible.

All this new knowledge in mind, Dan performed his first deliberate raising of the dead.

A white misty shaped began to form, swirling in around from the surrounding air, until a figure resembling the corpse at Dan’s feet was staring at him.

“Why would you do this to me?” they begged, expression instantly snapping to one of anger.

“Why did you have my Protector’s medallion? What did you need it for?”

They tried to snarl at him, but Dan tightened his hold on them.

“Fine,” they spat out. “The Entertainer was going to use it to bring the king’s body back to life so he could use it and remain undetected, after he killed the king from within. It was supposed to happen when I was called here, but it didn’t. Happy?”

Dan shook his head. “No. But I am satisfied. Return to whence you came.” He shoved his magic, and the ghost, back to the land of the dead.

The second his magic snapped back to him, Dan wobbled on his feet.

“I was afraid of that,” Blackscale murmured, and strong arms caught Dan as his knees gave out, and then the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He'll be okay.


	28. Tapestry

Gar fell asleep that night to the worried murmurs of Snow.

Dan was a necromancer. Who could have seen that coming? At least the Entertainer was gone, for now, though Jack would undoubtedly be weak for a while yet.

Blackscale seemed fairly unconcerned about things, though, so Gar was trying not to worry about it.

It took quite a bit of effort, but finally, the outside world melted away and Gar fell into dreams.

_ “It is yours, your highness, until the day you chose to pass it on to your successor. And the dagger, Protector, is your responsibility.” _

_ Gar knew that voice. He did, but... he couldn’t place it. _

_ He turned, trying to find what was going on, but it was almost as if he was floating in the nether. _

_ “I still don’t understand why you chose me for this.” _

_ That was his voice. _

_ “I’ve tried explaining it to him,” and that was Snow’s voice--a younger Snow, though, almost like this had happened soon after they’d been bound, “but he doesn’t listen.” _

_ “You’re the younger child. You’re unlikely to take the throne, and you already know who you’re marrying next year. You’ve already a much closer relationship with us than your sister or either of your parents. You’ll be able to know if something goes wrong, and we have enough faith in your abilities to trust you’ll keep us from wreaking havoc.” _

_ “But... none of you are like that? Why give me the ability to kill you?” _

_ “Because you don’t want it. You’ll only use it if you need to. You’re a safeguard, your highness, nothing more.” _

_ “Violetscale-” _

_ Violetscale. Bluescale’s cenn, and the dragon bound to the magic before her. Gar had killed them when he broke the magic. _

_ “I’ll do my best.” Past-Gar finished. _

_ “I know you will.” _

_ The nothingness melted away, revealing a faded and patchy courtyard, like it was a water-damaged painting. _

_ “Come on,” Young Snow urged. “Might as well get used to it.” _

_ Gar turned to see a bright grin and a face he hadn’t seen in over a millennium. _

_ Snow. _

_ Snow, before his full-faced helmet became as much of his face as his actual face, before he became a featureless shade. _

_ Gar had taken that from him. Snow could have enjoyed having a body if Gar hadn’t panicked, if he hadn’t fallen to the Soulstealer’s trap. _

_ Huh. _

_ Gar was stopped from spiraling into those familiar thoughts by realizing Snow’s hair was short.  _

_ That was right, he’d kept it short before they were sent off to fight in the war. It was only after they’d both taken their first life that Snow lost the motivation to cut it. _

_ “I’m not sure about this, Snow,” Young Gar admitted. “What if I hurt you? They said I can’t heal things this sword does.” _

_ “I’ll still heal, my prince.” Young Snow shrugged. “It’ll take longer, but it’ll be okay. We’re both trained, and we’re not actively trying to kill each other. Neither of us is going to hurt the other.” _

_ “You  _ can’t  _ hurt me,” Young Gar laughed. _

_ Young Snow laughed. “That should make this that much easier, shouldn’t it? Come on, let’s go.” He raised a sword and dropped into a familiar dueling position. _

_ Young Gar dropped straight into an attack. _

_ The squelch of blade tearing through body and the shriek of armor giving way made Gar flinch. Some part of him, though, was completely emotionally detached. Somehow, he knew this was a matter of survival. _

_ “Your highness, your highness!” someone shouted, footsteps slurping in the mud running up to him, “are you alright?” _

_ “I’m fine,” Young Gar said flatly--but he wasn’t as young any more. His voice was more weary, more cynical, more hardened. “Is Snow resting?” _

_ “I was,” Young Snow said from behind, though he also wasn’t as young any more. His voice was much the same as it had been for his millennium as a shade, though a bit more bitter. “Assassination attempts are enough to get my attention.” _

_ Young Gar turned and put a hand on Young Snow’s shoulder, and Gar winced. He remembered this. Snow had gotten hurt, and they were both grieving Piya’s death still, so Gar had insisted Snow rest until Gar got the chance to heal him. _

_ He hadn’t remembered the assassination attempt, though. _

_ “I took care of it.” Young Gar casually wiped the blood off his sword, not even looking at it. _

_ “Yeah, but I should have been there,” Young Snow said. He took a step forward, only to groan and double over. _

_ Young Gar carefully pulled his friend and Protector up, then guided him towards the tents. “You can’t be there all the time, Snow. Come on, let’s get you patched up.” _

_ The world warped a bit, and as it warped Gar’s mind raced. How had he so casually killed someone? How often had that happened? And Snow being hurt? How often had that happened? _

_ The world stopped warping, and now Gar was laying on his stomach, reading a letter. The handwriting nagged at his memory, but nothing he did could bring the words themselves into focus. _

_ “How is she?” Young Snow asked cautiously. _

_ Young Gar looked up from the letter, and glanced across the small tent to where Snow was laying on his own sleeping roll, writing a letter himself. _

_ “She seems distressed about something, but... I don’t know what. She doesn’t say. She seems to think you know what she’s talking about, though?” _

_ “Hmm,” Young Snow said, kicking his feet lazily. “We’ve been planning a surprise for you, when we go home next. I wish I could help her more, but I can’t do a bunch out here.” _

_ Young Gar snorted, rolling over. “My Protector and my wife, conspiring against me.” _

_ “You know it.” _

_ Snow had had his long hair there. It wasn’t as long as it would ultimately become, where Snow would have to put it in braids to keep it up and out of his face and the blood of others, but it was getting there. _

_ “My prince?” Young Snow asked hesitantly. _

_ “Hmm?” _

_ “You ever think how it’ll be when you’re a dad?” _

_ “No. Not really.” Young Gar sighed. “I’m just trying to survive the war right now. Why?” _

_ “I dunno. It’s just... one of your kids is probably going to be the one to inherit your title, right?” _

_ “Only a son would inherit ‘Prince.’ I thought you knew that.” _

_ “No, like... Dragonslayer.” _

_ “Oh.” Young Gar sighed. “You’re probably right. I mean, I have no idea how many kids I’m going to have, but I know I have to have them. Hopefully my sister gets married and has kids herself. I’m not sure I’m fond of the thought of my kid having to take the throne some day.” _

_ “Yeah, that doesn’t seem too likely.” _

_ “Yeah, I know.” Young Gar put one arm under his head. “I guess we’ll see how things go. Tapestry isn’t going to just let anyone hold it, but... I don’t want it to hurt a kid. I guess I’ll have to ask to see how the succession of the Dragonslayer title will go down. Not for a while, though--I’m a long ways off from dying.” _

_ “I should hope so.” _

_ Dragonslayer? Tapestry? Was... was this what Snow had been talking about over a month ago? _

_ “What about your dagger? That has to be passed down too.” Young Gar looked over at Young Snow. _

_ “My dagger is much less picky. It’s just the safeguard on Tapestry, remember? You’ve got to hold them both if you wanna do damage. Tapestry is finicky enough for the both of them.” _

_ “How dare you insult my sword like this.” _

_ Young Snow laughed softly. “No offense, but I’m pretty sure it would hurt me if I even tried to touch it, so I mean full offense.” _

_ Young Gar laughed himself. “Seriously, though.” _

_ “I’ll probably give it to the Protector of whichever of your kids inherits Tapestry. Or grandkids, if you think you can fight dragons up to the point where you’re super old.” _

_ “Ouch. Have you no confidence in me?” _

_ “I have absolute confidence that you’ll want to spend the last years of your life visiting the people and exploring and do nothing at all related to the throne or dragonslaying.” _

_ “And you?” _

_ “I’ll follow you to death and back, of course. What else am I supposed to do with my life?” _

_ “I dunno. Get married?” _

_ Snow laughed. “Haven’t had much luck with that.” _

_ “You’re barely twenty. There’s plenty of time.” _

_ “If you say so, my prince. I’ll focus on getting out of the war alive, first, if you don’t mind.” _

_ “No, that’s a good plan.” _

_ Young Gar absently reached over and placed his hand on a sword hilt--without a glove or a gauntlet in the way. _

_ The unmistakable power of Tapestry flowed in that sword. _

_ The power sharpened, and then stung, and then cracked across Gar’s hand. He cried out, reflexively dropping it, and looked up to gasp. _

_ The heart of the Realms’ magic floated in front of him, damaged, torn into seven pieces. Tapestry, filled with that same magic, and dragon magic, laid on the stone floor. _

_ The Soulstealer had left, Gar knew that. How long had he been kneeling here, Tapestry on the floor, in pain, the all-too-familiar feeling of demon magic bubbling for control inside him? _

_ Gar dragged himself to his feet and tried to reach down to grab Tapestry, only for the pain to crack up his entire arm this time. _

_ He stared at it helplessly. He couldn’t just leave it, someone could pick it up and die, or they could corrupt the magic and try to kill the remaining Guardians. _

_...no. They couldn’t kill the Guardians. Snow still had his dagger. Tapestry was just a sword without it. _

_ And then the demon magic pulled Gar under. _

Gar jerked awake, gasping, only to thud off his bed and onto the floor.

_ “It worked, I see,”  _ Snow mused.

“What-” Gar gasped, trying to move only to discover he was tangled in his blanket. “What was that?”

_ “Those were memories. Specifically, the ones I’ve been working at uncovering for the past little bit.” _

“Tapestry... Dragonslayer?” Gar gave up on struggling and just laid on the floor in his blanket cocoon. “I... I was supposed to be the one to kill dragons? I knew how to do that?”

_ “I did tell you that.” _

“But- Snow, I can’t use Tapestry any more.”

_ “You’re a convincing fellow. I’m sure you can talk it back into letting you use it. You have to, regardless.” _

“I-” Gar took a deep breath. “How am I supposed to do that? I can barely manage basic daily tasks right now. I’m not even sure I can use a sword any more. I’m blind, Snow. That’s why I’ve been using a staff this whole time.”

_ “Do you want an actual answer to that, or are you just complaining?” _

“An actual answer!”

_ “Seeing the magic doesn’t require functioning eyes, or even eyes at all. And we can work on you seeing through me, though we’ll have to be much more careful about it. And, I know, I know, neither one of those are nearly the same as actually seeing, and they’re definitely things you won’t be using on a general basis. But there  _ have  _ been blind Protectors in the past, Gar. There have even been blind Royal Protectors in the past, during wars. _

_ “You were never expecting to have to learn what to do without your sight, I get that, and since you weren’t born blind, it’s a lot harder for you to accept that. But you don’t have a choice. You have to get up, and you have to get your strength back. You’d be absolutely annihilated in a fight right now. The Guardians have just been waiting for you to be ready. Grayscale’s been trying to push you into it with the staff lessons.” _

“Those are exhausting.”

_ “You died, Gar, and your body almost did. It hasn’t even been a full year since then. Of course it’s exhausting! You just can’t let it stay that way.” _

Gar groaned and started wiggling one arm out of the blanket, then began untangling himself. “It’s... Where do I start? There’s so much ground to make up.”

_ “Let’s go find Grayscale. He can help with that. And Greenscale will help to make sure you don’t do anything you can’t, and that doing things doesn’t mess up healing that’s still going on.” _

Gar grumbled as he finished extracting himself from the blanket, then hauled himself up onto his bed. He promptly tripped on the blanket he’d left on the floor, much to his annoyance, but managed to find his staff.

_ bork _

“Come on, Bea.” Gar shuffled over to where he knew his wardrobe to be. “Help me pick clothes, okay?”

_ Bork _

“You’re accusing my fashion sense? Bea, I can’t  _ see _ what I’m putting on.”

_ borp _

“...Fair.”

Snow just laughed.


	29. The Protector and His Medallion

Diul was interesting to see at night, especially from above. Dan would admit this readily. Flying, too, was thrilling, and seeing Blackscale’s natural form was unbelievable. And the fact that they had two colors of scales, black and gold? It was amazing.

Jordan had been less appreciative of flight, but he was also irrationally attached to his horse, and rationally scared of falling to his death, so there was that.

They’d left as soon as they could. They’d had to wait for Dan to wake, by which point it was confirmed that Jack and Ethan and Robin would all be okay with rest and time.

Dan had woken wearing PJ’s medallion, and that had concerned him to no end. Blackscale had told him it was helping PJ, though, so he kept it on.

It was exhausting, though. Dan was already so tired, and it seemed to just... drain energy from him.

Blackscale had assured him that PJ didn’t feel that on a regular basis, and was in fact happening just because the medallion wanted to get back to PJ. It would function as a regular piece of jewelry when it was returned to him. At least, as regular pieces of jewelry made from dragon scales and enchanted to keep people alive defined normal.

And here they were, now.

Blackscale quietly landed next to the fortress wall, perching carefully with their feet kind of oddly placed so as not to crush anything.

Dan and Jordan climbed off, and Dan would have collapsed if Jordan wouldn’t have caught him. He was, after all, still injured from his fight with the Entertainer.

“There’s not much time,” Blackscale said, suddenly standing next to them in human form. “Come on.”

It took both Jordan and Blackscale to help Dan up the flight of stairs to the inside, and all the way across the fortress to PJ’s room.

Dan gritted his teeth as they pushed past the healer tending to PJ, then pulled PJ’s medallion off his own neck before slipping it over PJ’s head.

Instantly, PJ’s breathing eased.

“It was a success, then?” the healer asked.

“Come on,” Jordan said quietly. “Let’s leave them be.”

Dan curled up next to PJ on the bed, then carefully removed his magic from PJ. Whatever Pat had done was long gone, leaving only the few faintest tingles in its place.

PJ didn’t look great. Dan knew he didn’t look good himself, but there was a distinct difference between the way he looked awful (exhausted and worn out and injured) and the way PJ looked awful (like he’d been hovering near death for a little over a month, unable to move or eat properly, while being deathly ill).

Slowly, though, PJ’s eyes fluttered open and his mouth twisted into a grimace.

“Oh thank Anastas,” Dan breathed, wrapping PJ in a tight hug.

PJ squeaked slightly, and definitely groaned. “Dan?” His voice cracked roughly, and he grimaced. “Dan- how?”

“I hunted your medallion down.”

PJ’s hand scrabbled for his chest, barely managing to grab his medallion before he fell still and closed his eyes.

He was still alive, though, so Dan just released him and set him gently on his pillows. There was no need to push him.

“I-” PJ took a shuddering breath. “How long?”

“A month.”

PJ grimaced again. “Explains why I feel like death warmed over.”

“You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in a month, yeah.” Dan sat back and frowned. PJ had always been a bit gangly, just like Dan, but he was never meant to be  _ bony. _

“Yeah- yeah, feel that too.” PJ grunted, then opened his eyes again.

Dan reached for the pitcher of water and cup on the bedside table. PJ accepted a cup gratefully, though he had to have Dan’s help not dropping it.

It was an awful lot like shortly before Phil’s death, and it took a lot in Dan not to hold PJ tight again.

Despite the awful way PJ looked, though, and the drying sheen of sweat on his face, his eyes were bright. “A month, huh?” He smiled faintly. “That must have been tough. Thanks.”

“Never do that to me again.”

PJ chuckled weakly. “Wasn’t planning on it.” He took a deep breath. “So... we going to the summer meetings?”

“You almost died, Peej. I think they’ll understand.”

PJ shook his head. “I hate to break it to you, but I, at least, have to go.” He touched his medallion again. “I’m going to need Pat and Wade to make sure I’ll be okay.”

“I can heal you.”

“Yes, but you’re not bound to the King’s Protector.” PJ’s painfully thin fingers rested on Dan’s hand reassuringly. “It has to happen.”

“I-” Dan hung his head. “We’d have to leave next week.”

“Okay.” PJ closed his eyes again. “It’s night, right? Since it’s dark outside. Let’s both sleep, and in the morning, I’ll get that proper meal of mine, and you can make arrangements for travel. Deal?”

Dan let out a breath. “Deal.”

The two of them laid there, PJ under the covers and Dan on top, asleep. Neither was willing to let the other sleep elsewhere, nor did they want to be separated again, not after what had happened.

Dan would wake early in the morning, but he used the time to just lay there and relax. It wasn’t something he’d gotten to do in a long time, and he missed it.

PJ would have it rough for a while. They’d have to travel by carriage, for his sake. If they tried to go by horse, one good wind would knock PJ off. Dan would need to get a good stock of healing supplies to help PJ as they traveled, and supplies in general, but as long as that was done, he was pretty sure he could handle the trip itself.

The important part, though- PJ was alive.

Dan looked over at his friend, his Protector, the man he’d come to consider a brother, and quietly opened his ears to listen to his song.

He smiled softly.

PJ’s song was weak, and soft, a far cry from its regular powerful beat, but it was stable, and it was on tune.

PJ would recover.

\-----

Phil’s tomb was almost completely overgrown these days. Dil had seen it, and was confused, but followed the orders Dan had left and didn’t touch it. It wasn’t ugly at all, even though many of the plants growing on and around the tomb were ones widely regarded as weeds and unwanted. They were, however, all a vibrant green, with flowers of reds and blues and whites and yellows and purples and oranges, with vines gripping and almost squeezing the sides of the tomb, grass growing high and moss growing thick.

Phil would have loved it.

As the sun began to rise on the Third Realm, the early morning light filtered through the trees and landed on the tomb, creating a dazzling set of colors.

The vines growing around the side slowly started to thicken, to tighten, and to displace the stones of the tomb, millimeter by millimeter.


	30. Training

Never had Gar been so glad that summer came late to the northern part of the Seventh Realm. Otherwise, he’d be far too hot at this exact moment.

He also didn’t remember a mountain trail.

He was pretty sure he would have remembered this.

“We’re not going all the way to the top today,” Grayscale said as they paused for Gar to catch his breath. “I don’t particularly trust your rock climbing skills right now, and we’d need them.”

“No, I’m okay with that.” Gar leaned heavily on his staff, grimacing.

The hike hadn’t been particularly  _ hard _ so far, he supposed. If one could see to walk. If he wasn’t constantly slipping on gravel and loose rocks, even with his staff helping him. If he didn’t have a set of new bruises running all the way up to his hips and elbows from falling.

Fortunately, Grayscale had insisted on walking on the outside of the trail, so Gar hadn’t been able to fall off the edge of the trail, but still.

That didn’t stop his entire body from hurting.

_ “Careful,” _ Snow warned.  _ “Some of that pain feels awfully familiar.” _

Gar just gripped his staff tighter. “How much further?”

“We’re stopping here, actually,” Grayscale said. “We’ll rest until you’re prepared to make the return trip.”

Gar sighed heavily and slowly lowered himself to the ground, face twisting into a grimace and pulling oddly on the scars he’d gotten from the gryphons.

Yeah, his body wasn’t happy with him.

“What’s causing the pain?” Grayscale asked, a hand coming to rest on Gar’s shoulder.

Gar let out a breath. “My back. Between the falls and using my staff on the hike, it’s not holding up so great.”

“Go ahead and lay down. Greenscale made sandwiches.”

“Thoughtful.” Still, Gar obeyed, letting his staff lay across him.

He hated this. He hated feeling so weak and in pain, he hated not being able to see, he hated not being able to function like he once did.

_ “It’s going to feel worse before it gets better,”  _ Snow reminded.  _ “You’ve only been doing this for a week, after almost a year away from your old schedule.” _

_ “Yeah, trust me- there was a reason I didn’t stop practicing stuff the past thousand years.” _

_ “You really never gave it a break, even for a year?” _

_ “Not really, no.” _

_ “What about when Dae was born?” _

Gar snorted.  _ “What, and risk having something happen to them? Not if I could help it.” _

_ “I’m really disappointed I missed that entire twenty years of your life. I really wanted to see how you did things.” _

Gar rolled his eyes.  _ “Should have followed me outside the Realms.” _

_ “You crossed an ocean. I couldn’t walk on water.” _

_ “You crossed rivers.” _

_ “That’s different.” _

_ “Sure.” _

“Is it helping?” Grayscale asked.

“I, uh,” Gar paused to think about his pain, then nodded. “Yeah. It’s helping.”

“Good. Sandwich incoming on your left.”

Gar held out his hand and got a familiar food deposited into it.

He and Grayscale ate in largely silence. 

_ “Question,”  _ Snow said.

Gar paused.

_ “I realize this  _ probably  _ isn’t the best place for it, considering we’re in a clearing of some kind and all, but... I wanna try separating again. I think I figured out how to keep from overextending you when I do it.” _

Gar hesitated, then sighed. “Grayscale? Snow wants to practice magic here.”

“Right now?” Grayscale asked.

_ “Right now,”  _ Snow agreed.

“He wants to try separating us again.”

Grayscale made an uneasy noise. “If you’re okay with it, I guess, as long as you’re both careful.”

_ “Of course,”  _ Snow said, and “When am I not?” Gar asked.

A long pause from both Grayscale and Snow.

“Rude,” Gar muttered.

Snow laughed softly.  _ “When you’re ready to sit up, then.” _

_ “What, by the way, will make this attempt different from last time?” _

_ “I’m not trying to separate fully. Neither one of us are necromancers, so I don’t think it’d work—and even if it did, I don’t want to drain that much energy from you. But, maybe separating halfway would work? I’d be a bit like a backpack, though I’d be able to move waist up fairly easily. It wouldn’t be as hard on you, too.” _

Gar made a face.  _ “I guess?” _

_ “Besides,”  _ Snow added,  _ “if we get this to work, I can go full backpack on you for you seeing through me.” _

Not at all conspicuous, having half a shade hanging off your shoulders. At least Snow wouldn’t weigh much- would he? Did shades weigh anything?

_ “Not that I’m aware of. I didn’t affect the environment when I was a shade, at least. Couldn’t crunch leaves or splash in puddles, either.” _

Interesting.

Gar sat up slowly before settling into a comfortable position, setting his staff across his knees.

A long pause.

And then, just like last time, Snow began squirming to get out.

And, just like last time, the feeling of Snow being out of Gar was strange. Unlike last time, though it was a bit strange, it was also a bit of a relief. Especially since the feeling only went to Gar’s waist, where things felt “normal” again.

It was probably best not to think about it too much.

“okay,” Snow breathed. “so far so good” a pause. “hello, by the way”

“Hello,” Grayscale said simply. “I’m going to interrupt to remind you two to not overextend Gar.”

“yeah,” Snow said. “gar? let me know if it gets to be too much”

“Will do,” Gar said, closing his eyes and trying to pay attention to himself.

This definitely was draining his energy, but it wasn’t  _ too _ bad yet either.

“okay,” Snow said, shifting some, “i’m going to backpack myself onto you”

To Gar’s surprise, even though Snow shouldn’t have had a physical weight, Gar definitely felt something settle across the back of his shoulders, and things that felt distinctly like arms and hands wrapping around him.

“Huh,” Gar said. “Are you settled, then?”

“yes”

“Okay.”

“do you want to try seeing through my eyes again?”

Gar let out a long breath, then shook his head. “Not right now, no. If things go wrong, I don’t want to make Grayscale carry me down the mountain.”

“It’s appreciated,” Grayscale said.

“okay,” Snow said. “how you feeling now?”

“Tired.”

“mmkay” A moment of nauseating shifting, and then Snow was definitely all inside Gar’s body again.  _ “Better?” _

_ “Better.” _

A long pause.

_ “Do we want to see how well you can see by looking at the magic?” _

Gar took a deep breath and nodded, opening his eyes to the magic before he was even finished nodding.

He gasped.

The magic had  _ changed _ since he last looked at it, a bit before he was bound to Molly again. It was still the royal blue he’d known for so long, and it was still a tapestry, but the threads-

The magic looked  _ healthy. _

The threads weren’t as thick as they had been when Gar had first learned how to see the magic a thousand years ago, but they were nearly double what they had been three years ago. There were more threads, too, with room for all of them to grow and thicken even more.

“How?” Gar asked.

Grayscale hummed happily. “Babies.”

“What?” Gar turned his head to see the brilliant metallic blue running through Grayscale--not quite distinctive enough to tell where his limbs were, sitting as he was, but better than not being able to see at all. “What does that mean?”

“It means the birth of all the noble children has spurned this growth, and all nine of the eggs in the clutch. The future is looking up for the magic, and the kingdom. It’s good.”

“I haven’t seen it like this in a long time.” Gar turned his gaze to looking around him, to examining his surroundings and trying to figure out the placement of things and what was nearby.

“To be completely honest, I’ve never seen it this healthy,” Grayscale said, “but Blue tells me it was even more amazing than this when she was a dragonling, so I have high hopes.”

_ “You fixed the magic, Gar,”  _ Snow reminded.  _ “That was what you were trying to do for a thousand years. You succeeded.” _

_ “But it’s been almost eight years, Snow. I thought it would take longer to heal than that.” _

_ “Nah.” _

Gar chuckled, the familiar feeling of tears welling up in his eyes making him bury his face in his hands.

“You did good, Gar,” Grayscale said, a distinct tone of approval in his voice. “You did good.”


	31. The Summer Meetings

“Do you have a portrait?”

“That’s a really nice ring.”

“Are you inviting anyone to the wedding?”

“That’s amazing!”

Amile flushed at the praise and kind words coming from the other Protectors and shoved her engagement ring back on her hand before shoving her hands behind her back.

“No, nobody is attending our wedding--except JP, we’re making him officiate,” she said, getting a faint “Woo!” from the other side of the room (where JP was talking with Wade and Pat).

Chuckles ran around the group of Protectors.

“No, no portrait. I didn’t think about it.” She shook her head. “He’s average height, though, and has dark skin and hair like me.” She paused and squinted at PJ as he reached for a pen and paper. “What’re you doing that for?”

“Clearly I’m taking a note of this so I can make sure you two get a wonderful wedding gift,” PJ said, giving her a genuine, if tired, smile.

“Enough about me,” Amile said, turning to PJ. “How are you?”

PJ made a face. “Honestly? Could be better.” He stretched out his arm and looked at it--his uniform was still a bit baggy on him. “I look a lot better than I did a few weeks ago, I can tell you that much.” He glanced around, and then looked back and rolled his eyes. “Dan’s worrying over me a lot. He’s trying to give me space, which I appreciate, but he’s still a bit much.”

“You did almost die,” Felix pointed out. “You should have seen Cry in the first few months after I was brought back. He tried really hard, but it was still pretty bad to see how much he worried over me.”

“You  _ did _ die, though, Felix.” PJ leaned back in his chair and shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “I feel like that’s a bit different.”

Felix just raised an eyebrow at him and put one hand on his chin.

Amile paused, then blinked at Feilx. “What happened to your beard?”

“Oh, uh,” Felix laughed awkwardly as everyone realized that, while he still had a beard, it was now shaved close, and turned to look at him, “Cry’s boys--they like grabbing it. And they’re strong, too. One of them ripped a whole handful out. It really hurt.” He shook his head. “I’m around them a lot, so until they grow out of it, I’m keeping this short.”

“That must have been a change.” PJ raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I would say so.” Felix patted his face again. “I don’t stand out as much from all you clean-shaven men now, though.”

“Pat has a beard,” Amile pointed out, even as PJ rubbed his chin. “I think Jason has one now.” She had no confirmation of that, because MatPat and Jason had arrived late the night before and hadn’t gotten up yet, but that was the rumor.

“I think I’ll stay babyfaced,” PJ said. “Someone has to keep Dan company.”

“I heard that!” Dan called across the room.

“Grow a beard!” PJ shouted back.

Chuckles ran around the room.

“Not all of us can be Wade, Peej! Even if a miracle happens and I can suddenly grow a beard, it’ll never be royal!”

More laughter, and Wade stroked his beard with a smile.

Huh. He had been growing it out a bit.

“What even is the point of a beard?” Amile asked.

“Makes us look distinguished when we age,” Felix said.

PJ shook his head. “I don’t think anything’s going to help you with that.”

Felix spluttered (though Amile was fairly sure it was at least some acting), and PJ just laughed.

The first day of meetings were always pretty relaxed, Amile had decided as everyone officially congregated back to their chairs again. Sure, there was lots of business, but none of the nobles were especially hard or humorless--in fact, most of them enjoyed lots of different kinds of humor. 

“How’s Molly, and the twins?” Cry asked once they were settled. “And Gar?”

“I’m sure he’d be thrilled to know he’s last on that list,” Wade said, leaning back in his chair and pointedly not looking at Molly’s regular chair, set in the corner and covered to keep it from getting dusty. “They’re doing okay, I think. There’s only so much we can talk about when we have to talk through Gar and Pat, though, and I miss that. She said the twins have started rolling over by themselves, and that they love grabbing onto Gar’s feet when he walks by and try to make him drag them across the room.”

“Twins are a handful and a half,” Cry agreed.

“I’m glad to know Gar’s up and about,” Jason said. “It’s a definite improvement from the last time I saw him.”

“He’s still struggling,” Pat said. “He’s permanently blinded, and it’s a big adjustment for him on top of healing.” He scratched the back of his head. “It doesn’t help that Snow’s still around.”

Everyone paused.

“He and Gar are stuck in the same body,” Pat explained. “It’s been rough on them both.”

Everyone around the table made a face at the thought of it.

Wade cleared his throat. “I do have a much more somber thing to bring to the table: Mark officially asked us for aid in the war. We’re not required by treaty to go to help him, but...” Wade shook his head. “I can’t imagine not doing so.” 

“Wade... the people aren’t going to like it,” JP warned.

“They won’t like it if they hear we denied Mark help, either.” Wade leaned on the table, folding his hands on the table. “I spoke to Molly and Bluescale about it yesterday--Gar was off doing training, apparently.” Wade hesitated for a moment, then plowed ahead. “There is, hypothetically, a way to kill the rogue dragon. If we can do that, I have no doubt Adroy will fall back and the war will end.”

“Probably,” Jordan agreed. “The people of Adroy don’t like fighting. They like making things. If they don’t have something pushing them, they’ll fall back.”

“What is this thing?” MatPat asked.

Wade looked at JP.

JP raised an eyebrow. “I’m not fighting a dragon. In fact, if I get into any actual fights I’m pretty sure Amile is going to kill me.”

“With that hip of yours I wouldn’t have to,” Amile said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“You won’t have to.” Wade’s eyes flicked to the back of JP’s chair, where Tapestry was slung in its sheath. “Can you set Tapestry on the table?”

JP stared at Wade.

“JP.”

“I- yeah, sure.” JP reached up and drew Tapestry, laying the blue blade across the table. “Is- are you saying Tapesty can kill a dragon?”

“It’s not quite as easy as that, but... yes. When wielded by the right person, and with Snow’s dagger, Tapestry can indeed kill a dragon.”

“Do we even have Snow’s dagger anymore?” Cry asked.

Amile pulled the dagger from her belt, setting it next to Tapestry.

“That was an easy yes.” Cry turned to Wade. “I’m guessing this is where things get harder.”

“There’s only ever been one person trained how to use them to kill a dragon.” Wade nodded at Tapestry. “Tapestry’s first owner.”

Gar.

“He can’t hold Tapestry, though,” JP said.

“Not right now, no.” Wade took a deep breath. “Once he’s recovered as much as he can with the Guardians, Gar is going to go to you, and he’s going to talk Tapestry into letting him use it again. Molly and our twins will stay with the Guardians for safety.”

“I-” JP winced. “It’s going to be very unpleasant for him.”

“We don’t have a choice, JP. If Gar can’t kill that dragon, then it will destroy the Land of the Squirrels, and we will be next.” Wade’s frame tightened. “You remember the demon camp? The way the entire area of land just started to die? Bluescale assured me it would be much worse than that once the magic of the Land of the Squirrels dies and the magic here tries to flow in to fill the gap. And it’ll start with the Sixth and Seventh Realms.”

MatPat gasped softly.

JP set his shoulders, expression burning. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to help him do it, Wade. I have a Realm and a daughter to protect. When Gar is ready, I’ll be there to help him.”

“So we’re going to war, then,” Dan said. It was the first words he’d said since they’d sat back down. He looked incredibly weary at the prospect--but then again, he’d been one of the nobles hit the hardest with the Suzerain War.

“We are.” Wade took a deep breath. “Send news home to begin preparing for war. It’ll be a year before we’re ready to go help, but... we have to start preparing regardless.”

Dan sighed and closed his eyes, but nodded.

“Cry? Dan?” Wade said.

Dan opened his eyes and looked over, even as Cry looked over from whispering to Felix.

“Both of you are staying here. You both know why.”

Cry nodded silently, and Dan sighed and lowered his head.

“Wait-” MatPat leaned forward. “Why are they staying?”

“I’m staying to help bolster defenses here,” Cry said, “and to make sure none of the people causing trouble in Bossatron try to take advantage of it.”

Dan leaned forward, resting his head in his hands, before finally looking up.

“If they find out I’m a necromancer it’s not going to go well.”

Everyone paused and just turned to look at Dan.

PJ’s gaze hardened, and he sat up straighter in his seat, as if ready to take them all on at once.

“Explain,” MatPat said slowly.

So Dan did.


	32. Epilogue

JP accepted the flower crown from Cat with a smile, and watched her scamper off to dance to the music being played nearby with another smile.

It was Amile’s wedding day, and despite the knowledge that Amile and Joshua would have to be separated for the war, JP had never seen her happier.

That was good.

Amile had been right about the wedding itself being a private event, but Joshua’s siblings and family had come for the reception, and Bob and Mandy had come too, and of course JP was here. The dancing going on was beautiful (not that JP could participate, with his hip), with the traditional vibrant wedding colors swirling and twirling.

JP let himself smile, relax, and take in the music and cheer.

Eventually, though, his gaze drifted up the mountain. It wasn’t visible from here, but... up that canyon had been the demon camp.

JP sighed and closed his eyes. In the morning, he was traveling with Bob back up to the site, giving Amile some time for her honeymoon while he was at it. He didn’t know what he was hoping to find there, but... he wanted to- he  _ needed _ to find something there. He couldn’t just lead his people into war and death. Wade had been wrestling with the choice for the past year, he knew, but...

JP sighed, forcing himself to relax for the moment. This was Amile’s day. She didn’t deserve to be dragged down by his thoughts.

\-----

JP stepped quietly in the dead leaves, his eyes picking out where things had been so long ago. Some of the old camps still had half-destroyed shelters in them, overgrown and rotting. The rest... well, if you hadn’t seen them, you wouldn’t know what had happened over a decade ago.

JP sighed, slowly walking through the camp. He still didn’t know why he’d felt the need to come here, just that he did.

He wasn’t sure how long he wandered through the old camp, noticing new growth and remembering the people and things that had been.

His feet knew a path he didn’t consciously remember, though, and he ended up standing in the corner of the area, eyes searching the trees and ground for... something.

JP sighed and lowered himself onto a fallen tree stump.

“You doing okay?” Bob asked, settling next to him.

JP dug the toe of his boot into the ground, face twisting into an uneasy expression. “I don’t want to go to war. I don’t want to be responsible for the deaths of so many people.” He sighed. “But... inaction isn’t good either. Inaction is what led to all this.” He gestured at the demon camp. “I can’t have that on my conscience either.”

“I can’t help you much with this, it seems,” Bob said. “But... I’ll stand by you, no matter what.”

“I mean, Wade’s already given the order to prepare for war. I’m just fussing over it.” JP made a face, then paused as his gaze landed on something he’d thought long lost--something he’d uncovered by kicking at the ground. He bent down and picked up a small square charm. It was still possible to see the etchings making it look like a box with a cheerfully smiling face. As JP rubbed at the dirt covering it, it became clear that some of the paint on it still remained.

JP just looked at it.

He knew what this was.

This was the tiny box charm Mark had sent all those years ago, when he’d come to help find and deal with the demon camp. It had been for Wade’s sake, but... still.

JP tucked the charm into his pocket, then stood.

“Come on, Bob.” He turned to look at the camp he now knew to be the one Gar had protected them for so long in. “Let’s go prepare for war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this one.
> 
> It'll be a little while before I have any of the next one up. I have to very carefully tune foreshadowing and worldbuilding, so that will take more time usual.
> 
> Real talk, though, I've been doing this pretty much constantly for two years now. I love it, and I have every intention of continuing it, but I need to take a bit of a break from publishing chapters. It'll give me a bit of a break, since I won't be forcing myself to produce on a schedule, and it'll allow me to get a lot more written in Bonds of Loyalty (which is the name of the next one) before I start worrying about publishing it.
> 
> If you want to catch it, you can either subscribe to the series or me as an author, and I'll catch you next time!
> 
> -Potato


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